Deceive
by serenitysea
Summary: During AML. Sark asks to be introduced... to Julia. What takes off from there is a whirlwind of misplaced affection and passion. And now? They're engaged. Sarkney, with hints of JuSi.
1. Part One

Title: Deceive  
  
Author: Serenity Sea  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: S3, through AML  
  
Distribution: If you want it, you can have it, just let me know where it's going.  
  
Disclaimer: I can't believe I honestly have to do this. No, I don't own Sark, Syd or Simon. As much as I would love to. Honestly.  
  
Dedicated to: All Sarkney shippers. And a user, "eve" at the SD-1 boards, for inspiring me with her comment about Sark knowing when Sydney was in the room.  
  
And I apologize for the lack of verbage here, but I don't remember Sark's dialogue and the transcript isn't out yet. So I'm hedging around it-- noticeably.  
  
Without any further ado, let the chaos continue.  
  
* * *  
  
"All right then, send him up."  
  
Simon closed the phone and smiled briefly at her, perhaps trying to make up for what he'd done before. Holding her at knife-point. Very nice way to kill the mood, that. And why she had said "Now I remember why I left in the first place," she didn't know, but it just *felt* right.  
  
There was a knock on the door and she automatically turned away. Normally, she would have covertly taken notice of just whom Simon was working with, but she couldn't afford to let someone she knew blow her cover. And these days, it could be someone who knew her--and she wouldn't find out until it was too late.  
  
The guest was shown in and she swore she felt eyes burning into her head. Then the person started speaking and her hand stilled over the op-tech papers.  
  
* * *  
  
When he'd entered the room, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. 'Sydney.' He started explaining the last minute plans while stealthily looking for her. She could be hiding in the closet, hanging from the ceiling, back behind a curtain, underneath the--oh hello. Long brown hair, black leather that fit her *quite* well, trying very hard to blend in with her surroundings while not arousing the suspicions of her teammates. yeah, that was her, all right.  
  
He smiled disarmingly, halting Simon in mid-sentence. "Si. I heard you'd acquired a new member to your group. If it's that bewitching creature in black over there, might I perhaps wrangle an introduction?"  
  
The light in the other man's eyes spelled danger, but he knew who was the employer here and knew he had no choice.  
  
"Of course," Simon replied. "Babe?"  
  
* * *  
  
She froze.  
  
What was he doing?  
  
"--an introduction?"  
  
That conniving, sick, twisted, son of a--didn't he know what she was trying to do here?! He was about to get them both killed!  
  
"Of course. Babe?"  
  
Odds were, if her cover wasn't blown to smithereens yet, it was going to be now. She turned and felt the power of that ice-blue gaze ram into her with the force of bullets being caught with a Kevlar-lined vest. 'Damn,' she thought, hoping to communicate to Sark with her eyes what hopefully Simon, the ever-observant spy, would not pick up on.  
  
"What's up?" She automatically moved closer to Simon.  
  
He, though a bit confused about her change in behavior, settled a hand on the curve of her waist. "Babe, this is our employer, Mr. Sark. Sark, this is Julia. She's doing the security for us."  
  
Sark's eyes held a mischievous light in them as he sent an all-too familiar smirk her way. "Really. Did she pass the induction?"  
  
Simon snorted defensively. "I'll say. She bloody dove eight flights into a pool to escape the cops. Brought back a pretty trinket, too."  
  
"So. There've been no problems with, ah, Julia?"  
  
Was it her imagination, or did he place emphasis on her name?  
  
"Well." Simon had the grace to look embarrassed. "There was a bit of a mix-up before. But it's been all cleared up, now, right Babe?"  
  
She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. "Whatever."  
  
The smirk on Sark's face grew. "Might I have a word?" She glanced at Simon for help, hoping that she didn't look desperate while the last thing she wanted to do was meet with Sark and have some irrational promise drawn out against her will. He met her eyes expressionlessly and made no attempt to stop them. "This will just take a minute."  
  
* * *  
  
He gently escorted her outside the room, until they had walked a safe distance and were hovering outside the doorway of what she hoped was an unoccupied room.  
  
"Well, look what we have here. What are you doing, Sydney?" His voice was almost musical in the request and it was all she could do not to give up the information.  
  
"What does it *look* like I'm doing, Sark?"  
  
He pretended to consider it, all the while keeping his eyes trained on hers. "I assume you are trying to infiltrate the Covenant, to regain some of your memories. But it won't work. Walker's just a offshoot of the hand of that leads to the center of the organization. He has no idea who he's working for."  
  
"Oh," she thrust her body forward defensively, not noticing how closely they were standing, "and I suppose *you* do, right?"  
  
His brow rose. "I might." Sark let his gaze descend from her face to travel down the length of her body appreciatively. "Though I must say, *Julia*," he sneered, "you've done yourself a disservice this time. If you'd wanted to get on the inside, all you had to do was ask. Instead, you're playing love-slave to some low-class rag who could never make you happy."  
  
She looked a bit bewildered. "Why?--I don't need him to be happy. I need my *mind* back. I can't even believe we're having this conversation. Honestly-- "  
  
Quicker than a flash, Sark pulled out his gun and put it to her head, using his body to push her against the door. "I swear to you, I will pull this trigger if you don't tell me what in the *hell* you're doing, woman! This is not time to play games. Low-class or not, that man will *kill* anyone who double-crosses him."  
  
Despite being held at gunpoint, she had enough guts to reply, "Like you wouldn't." Sydney even went so far as to let her body sag lightly against his. "God, what is this? 'Put a weapon near my face and demand I spill my guts' night?"  
  
He looked abashed and reluctantly put the gun away. Then the rest of her statement hit him. "What are you talking about? Did he try something tonight?"  
  
"Why do you *care*, Sark? You were about to do the same thing."  
  
"I might not have pulled the trigger."  
  
"You might have."  
  
Sark sighed and she tried not squirm as she felt his chest rise and fall against her. Squirming would be very bad at this point. She knew that. So why did she have the urge to? "Come now, Sydney. You know I respect you. What a waste of a life that would be. Capture you, yes. Extract damnable promises from you, possibly. But kill you? No. I might wound you, though."  
  
"Why don't you want me to go on this mission, Sark? If you have that much appreciation for my skills as an agent, then you know I'll get the job done. You also know I can't pull out of it just yet, so for at least a short time, you'll have what you want."  
  
"I didn't know that, actually. But thank you for informing me."  
  
Sydney let her head fall back against the door, inadvertently moving closer to him. Rule number one: Never let them know your mission. You may as well sign up for an interrogation after that.  
  
"Well. Possibly we could work something out that would benefit us both and somehow spare your life for another day."  
  
Before Sydney could respond, his eyes widened fractionally and she was completely unprepared for Sark's warm lips on hers.  
  
* * *  
  
Sark told himself that pushing her more intimately against the door and setting about kissing the daylights out of her was just because he wanted her to live. That somehow, it would all filter out into a score for his overall plan. That by letting Simon see them in the doorway, and thereby risking the man's wrath, and possibly his life, she would hopefully keep from killing him personally.  
  
He felt her buck against him in protest and, using his body, forcefully reminded her who was in charge here. Never mind the things her lips were doing to him. Ignore the fact that she was going to be aware of just what affect she had on him very shortly if they had to keep this up. Besides the fact that this was one of the oldest tricks in the book, he hoped she wouldn't doubt his worth as an agent. After all, it wasn't his fault Simon had a jealous streak a mile long and--  
  
"Ahem." They pulled apart, a bit guiltily, to meet the seething emerald gaze of Simon. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Julia?"  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but he nudged his leg in between hers and she abruptly shut her mouth.  
  
"Not really." Sark answered for her, hoping Simon would get the message. 'She's mine. Now back the hell off.'  
  
"Well." He sniffed, looking wounded. "We have to leave in less than five minutes if you want this mission to be a success. Maybe you can wrap this up and--"  
  
"--I am sure, Simon," he enunciated each word with icy precision, "that it will be a success whether Julia remains occupied for a few more moments or not. I'll drive her to the drop-off. We'll meet you there." His tone left no room for discussion.  
  
"Very well." He stalked off back to the operations room, no doubt to lick his wounds.  
  
Sydney was momentarily thrown to see the freezing look in his sapphire eyes when, just seconds before, they had been white-hot with fire. She took a shaky breath. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"  
  
He noted she did not object to the kissing that had transpired, merely the change in plans. "That was me, saving your life. *sweetheart*." The jeer in his last word had her getting ready to slap him. Sark grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. "Now. Apparently, we've a bit of a relationship to fabricate. What are your thoughts on that?"  
  
* * *  
  
Well? 


	2. Part Two

Deceive | Part Two  
  
* * *  
  
"I'll tell you what my thoughts are, you son of a--"  
  
"Now, now, Sydney. There's no need to be so hurtful. Why, it wasn't your fault I disappeared for two years. Yes. That's what happened. We had a fight, you left, and I while I was heroically searching for you, the CIA captured me and--"  
  
"--Fight this," she wrenched her arms free and aimed a punch at his jaw. He ducked and went around her, tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. "Now then. Where were we? Oh yes. Captured. And I think-- Julia, darling, please stop trying to kick me--that we were madly in love."  
  
Sydney judged her left leg to be closest to his stomach and reared back, getting ready to kick him, hard. He expected it and smiled to himself. Then he slapped her on the butt.  
  
He could feel the shock travel all the way down the line of her body. Of course, it didn't help that he was inexplicably attuned to this woman, and that whatever she was feeling was somehow not always written all over her face, but pretty damn close enough. Of course, it didn't hurt that she was hanging halfway down his back. Or that every inch of her body was nearly plastered to him.  
  
Sark knew exactly when she came to her senses because, of course, the first thing she tried to do, was kick him again. He finally reached up and laid an arm across her legs. "Will you please stop trying to kick me?"  
  
"I'll stop trying to kill you when you learn to keep your *hands* off me."  
  
"Oh, but Sydney, it's so much more fun this way."  
  
She twisted her body awkwardly until she could see his face out of the corner of her eye. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."  
  
He let the right side of his lip curl up and continued down the hallway.  
  
"I can see that, you know."  
  
"I'm sure you can."  
  
* * *  
  
She tried not to like the car ride so much. After all, she'd been in some tuna can with Sloane and a gun to her head, and that had been much more exciting, right?  
  
Wrong.  
  
Sark drove as if he really didn't care that there was a tree blocking the road in front of them--she gripped the armrest tightly, hanging on as he spun them around it--or that he was breaking the speed limit now matter how high your culture could count, or in what denomination--No, Sark had absolute, cocky faith that he would make it on the other side completely unscathed. What shouldn't have surprised Sydney was that they did.  
  
After he'd turned off the engine, they sat in the car; he, obviously preparing to speak, she, out of respect from God only knew where, waiting for him to do so.  
  
"You are, of course, going to finish this out?"  
  
"It was my objective, either way." She looked out the window, realizing they'd beat Simon there. No surprise, considered the speed they'd traveled to arrive. Arrogant jerk. "When will you tell him?"  
  
"After the job. Don't want his mind all fuddled while there's a gunman on your back."  
  
"I'm touched."  
  
"Thought you would be."  
  
"--Though I trust you're speaking figuratively." Their superb spy memories kicked into gear, prompting images of their positions no more than ten minutes ago.  
  
Sark moved his gaze from the mirror to her profile. She could feel his eyes lasering into her cheekbone, almost as if trying to brand her in some way. He turned her chin towards him. "I would certainly hope so. Not that I see Simon letting it happen in the first place."  
  
A low rumble grew from behind them and Sydney knew Simon had arrived.  
  
"Company," Sark muttered.  
  
She would have confirmed this for herself, but Sark had yet to relinquish his grip on her. They were suddenly locked into an impromptu staring match, and neither of them wanted to back down. A smirk, ironically, softened the hard look on his face. They were now so close that she was all but inhaling when he exhaled.  
  
"Good luck," he murmured, brushing his lips against her, once, pausing, and then twice. "I think this is where you call me a bastard," he dryly remarked, slowly pulling back to watch her reaction.  
  
As if snapping out of a daze, she flinched and jumped back. "I don't need you to wish me luck," Sydney retorted, smoothing her hair down and climbing out of the car.  
  
He lingered with his hand on the key as she walked over to the team. Straining now, almost worried that he wouldn't be able to hear, a soft mutter carried well over the night air.  
  
"Bastard."  
  
Sark smirked and peeled out, swerving past them and heading for the second rendezvous point.  
  
* * *  
  
"Bastard."  
  
Sydney slammed the door behind her and grinned as she crawled over Simon. "Thanks being such a gentleman."  
  
"Anytime, Babe." He grinned back and they were off to the gatehouse.  
  
She tried not to think of the blonde spy in the fast car while they drove on in silence. It wasn't working, and she repeated it quieter, to herself. Thankfully, the jeep was full of men and they all knew to stay away from her at this point. So there was no questioning who she was speaking of.  
  
Because, like it or not, she had been claimed.  
  
By Sark.  
  
* * *  
  
It wasn't until the jeep stopped that she started to worry.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
Simon glanced at her and slid out of the vehicle, gesturing for her to do the same. She braced her hands on his shoulders, involuntarily smiling as his went around her waist and swung her to the ground.  
  
"Switching vehicles. in case we've been followed."  
  
Her hand stilled over the lipstick in her pocket and she fought not to gape in shock as they escorted a bloody figure out of the other jeep. His features came into view and she had to bite back a gasp.  
  
Vaughn.  
  
Before she could say anything, the squealing of tires and hard shift of gravel could be heard a ways back. Sark got out of his car and walked over. "What have we here?"  
  
"This man--Julia insists he's her supplier," piped up one of the men on Simon's team. "And this is what I meant!--His equipment is CIA issued!"  
  
She appealed to Simon. "I swear to you, he is my *supplier*!"  
  
He lifted a brow and turned to Sark. "Well?"  
  
Sark's eyes flickered to her for the briefest of seconds. "Julia will take this man. and dispose of him as she sees fit. We must be particularly careful now that we have reason to suspect the CIA's interference. It will be wise to make the switch at a later time." He held out a gun to her and she took it.  
  
Sydney left her position next to Simon and roughly grabbed Vaughn, dragging him away, praying that they would get out of sight in time.  
  
She did not know what was going to happen next.  
  
Not for the first time, she was going to have to trust Sark.  
  
Not a pleasant thought.  
  
* * *  
  
::What are you doing, mate? If he's CIA--::  
  
::--Then she should be the one to do him in. Julia does not take lightly the people who betray her.::  
  
Sydney had checked the gun a while back, to see a small earpiece tucked into the trigger. Of course. Sark would want some way to stay in contact with her. The conversation stopped there, and it was just as well or she would have had to find some way to turn it off, because Vaughn was not getting better any faster by walking aimlessly. An idea struck her.  
  
She looped her arm around his waist and squeezed him in a hug. "C'mon, Vaughn. We've got to run."  
  
Tired, beaten, and weak though he was, there was still over a decade of CIA training in him, forcing him to move when it didn't seem possible. There was also the sheer-*Vaughn* determination she'd always loved about him, and she saw it clearing the fog in his green eyes. He started to hobble into a run.  
  
It was becoming apparent that they could not go much further this way, and she hoped her instinct would serve her right.  
  
"I think--" he struggled to get out, "--we've walked in a circle, Syd."  
  
Her eyes alighted on the gleaming black sports car illuminated by the moonlight. "I know."  
  
* * *  
  
They made it to a CIA-covered hospital shortly after. Weiss had stopped in and met up with them, and was currently relaying the situation to Dixon. He told her that she had somehow gone radio silent after he'd realized Vaughn was gone. Sydney then understood Sark's sly handling of the gun. Of course it would knock out further outgoing transmissions. no need to *fully* supply the enemy with your location.  
  
She held Vaughn's hand tightly, attempting to smile the best she could while sitting in leather that now had enough dirt and sweat embedded into it to keep her fidgeting every now and then. Lauren was on her way over. They weren't allowed to fly him back to LA until he could at least walk on his own. And he'd suffered a few too many scratch wounds and beatings to do that just yet.  
  
The beeping on the heart monitor settled to a comfortable hum as he opened his eyes.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi," she tried a lopsided grin. "Sorry you got beat up."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Happens to the best of us."  
  
"Apparently," she chuckled softly. "What happened to you?"  
  
"Weiss and I were listening--we got Marshall to deal with the picture crisis, but afterward, with Sark. in the hallway." He trailed off into a question and she ducked her head, avoiding his gaze.  
  
"It was nothing."  
  
"We thought Sark. was going to kill you." He coughed out weakly. "You can't--"  
  
"--No, Vaughn." A sudden clarity filled her mind. "Sark just saved your life."  
  
* * *  
  
| Two days later. |  
  
Sydney had been looking over whatever reports she could dig up on Sark. She reasoned that she was going through this because she was trying to figure out what he'd want from her in exchange for her life--and Vaughn's. It wasn't a matter of *if*, for she knew he would demand some sort of payment. She'd been hoping to glean something from his transcripts, while in CIA custody, but it was now half a day later, and she was no closer to deciphering the enigmatic Mr. Sark.  
  
"Where are you, Sark?" She wondered aloud, putting aside the papers and reaching for her glass of wine.  
  
"I imagine in between the kitchen and the living room, although with these Americanized floor plans, one can never really be certain."  
  
She looked up to see him standing before her with his hands tucked into his pockets.  
  
"I'm not sure I want to know how you got in my apartment, without me knowing, while I was here. It's embarrassing, actually."  
  
He smirked in response and sat down across from her. "I'm going to pretend you just invited me to chat and we'll gloss over that for the time being. The real question is, Sydney, have you given any more thought to us? Because I can assure you, I have."  
  
* * *  
  
End Part two. 


	3. Part Three

DECEIVE | PART THREE  
  
* * *  
  
When she didn't answer, he casually slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned back into the couch. She stiffened in protest and he squeezed her shoulder teasingly. "Now, Sydney. If we're going to be engaged, you can't act like someone's stuck a pole up your--"  
  
"--Engaged?" She repeated, her voice shrill.  
  
He gave her a serious look. "Yes. I am the happiest man alive, and have been ever since you accepted me."  
  
"When did this happen? Where was I?"  
  
"Oh you were most assuredly there." A sly grin curved his lips. "And believe me, you were very happy to reciprocate my feelings of joy." He nudged her in the side. "If you know what I mean."  
  
She edged away and glared at him. "I think even a 12-year old could have understood that, Sark. And take your hands off me."  
  
He stilled her movements with a leveling look and pulled her back against him, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "If you want this to work," he spoke quietly into her ear, "you are going to have to learn to take orders from me. And to trust me. I got your precious bag of wrinkles out of there alive, didn't I?" He mentally sent Simon thanks for nicknaming Vaughn so appropriately.  
  
"Yes. And the rest of the world is stunned that you would do such a thing."  
  
Sark exhaled slowly, moving the hair behind her ear and tickling her skin. "Why is it," his lips hovered over her neck, "that people can't just receive a gift and say thank you? Everyone questions your motives," he planted a string of kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, "these days."  
  
By the time he'd finished, she was absolutely still and completely incapable of moving. It could be the effect he had on her, but Sydney liked to believe it was the gun poking her side.  
  
"That's one way to kill the mood," she dryly remarked, moving her head until she could see the gun for herself.  
  
Sark rolled his eyes. "I just can't win with you. One minute you're all against my declaring my love and the next you wish I would do nothing but. Perhaps this is why it took us so long to get with it." He tossed the gun in the air and caught it with his free hand. "We both know you'd have to do something very bad for me to even *consider* using it, but a gun is always very useful to have in times such as these. Now. Back to the original question: Have you given any more thought to our relationship?"  
  
If she was bothered by his tossing of the weapon she didn't show it. In fact, she was almost brash in telling him she'd spent most of her time at the hospital. With Vaughn.  
  
There was a mixture of annoyance, hurt and something else she couldn't identify in his eyes when he asked, "You're still in love with him then?"  
  
How odd to be discussing another man when this one had his arm tucked around her, playing with the hem of her shirt while letting his fingers occasionally brush against her bare skin. "Of course I--" She stopped, and he was left to wonder if she was going to confirm or debate the statement. "It doesn't matter. Part of me will always love him, but he's not the same man I fell in love with. Maybe we both aren't. Besides. He's married."  
  
"That's irrelevant," Sark waved his hand holding the gun, dismissing the matter. "You could get around that easily. In fact," he turned to her, so close their noses almost collided, "I've seen that woman, and there is no contest. She should be thankful when she climbs into bed at night that he's still there."  
  
Her body sagged against his; in relief or emotion, he didn't know, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. "I just don't know what to do."  
  
"Well don't come crying to me about it. I saved him once. That was your freebie. The next one's going to be more costly."  
  
She swallowed the insult that had been on the tip of her tongue and tried not to hate Vaughn for getting involved in this whole mess. If it hadn't been for him, she probably could have edged her way out of it, but now that Sark had spared him, she owed him. And he fully intended to collect.  
  
"What, exactly, did you have in mind?" She locked eyes with him, forcing herself to keep that bright blue firmly fixed in her sights.  
  
He set the gun on the coffee table and took her hands in his. "I thought you'd never ask."  
  
* * *  
  
(Several nights ago. . .)  
  
The crunching of leaves and gravel sounded sharply after the first transport left and Simon glanced at Sark.  
  
"You have remote entry now? Does that car do bloody everything for you?"  
  
"Just about," Sark smirked, twirling the key ring on his finger. "It should, I paid enough for it."  
  
Simon shook his head despairingly and grinned ruefully. "I'll never understand your obsession with that car, mate. I don't even try to."  
  
Sark lifted a hand and headed off, knowing they'd rendezvous later to exchange the goods.  
  
The other man watched him walk away, wondering just what it was that had Julia so far gone on him.  
  
Moments later, Sark came walking back into the line of sight. "I don't suppose you'd want to give me a lift?"  
  
Simon's brow arched. "Where's your 'pretty boy' car?"  
  
"Julia took it." Sark quietly muttered, "She might still be mad about that kiss."  
  
"I don't know. She looked pretty happy to me," he remarked, leading the way over to the remaining jeep, unable to keep the grin off his face.  
  
Sark threw one leg over the side and hauled himself in, settling in the hard seat uncomfortably. "And it is not a pretty boy car."  
  
"Sure it isn't," Simon drove a bit slower than Sark preferred, but reminded himself that it wasn't a sports car and if they drove the way he did, they'd probably be dead. "And Julia wasn't ready to have you right there in the doorway."  
  
Mildly surprised, Sark glanced at him briefly. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"No, I don't think I'll tell you just yet. You can figure that one out on yourself. But there is something I would like to know."  
  
"Go for it."  
  
"How did you two meet? Julia's never struck me as the type to just casually plant one on a random bloke--" obviously he didn't know *Julia* as well as he thought he did, "--and it seems to me you have somewhat of a history."  
  
Sark ignored the stiff plastic seats as he leaned back smugly. "It's actually quite ironic, really." Especially considering what had really happened. "Would you believe we met in an ice cave?"  
  
"No. Honest?" Simon had taken his eyes off the road to glance at him for such a long period of time, they were perilously close to crashing off the side of the cliff. It was all Sark could to do restrain himself and not say anything. Thankfully, though, at the last minute, he jerked the wheel sharply and got them back on track. Literally.  
  
"So, ice cave. Do tell."  
  
You have to make this good, he thought. But telling a complete lie isn't going to work. Inspiration suddenly stuck. "The cave, of course, was going to collapse. She had no way out. So I offered her a spot on my submersible, except it only sat four. And we were full up."  
  
"Don't tell me you left her there to die. Because, otherwise, I could see why she'd be pissed with you."  
  
"Leave? Julia?" Sark chuckled under his breath. "Those two words don't even belong in the same sentence. No, she came back with us on the submersible. On my lap."  
  
A full silence entered the car for a long time. Simon opened his mouth and shut it several times, as if wanting to say something, but not knowing what. It was just as well, he wound up looking like a fish, and Sark thought it was entertaining.  
  
"On your lap? And it took off from there--now you're in love? Just like that?"  
  
His brow rose. "Yes. I'd say it was more so love at first ice pick, but who am I to pinpoint something so remarkable as love?"  
  
Simon shook his head slowly in disbelief. "I just can't believe it. So she's been with you, all along?"  
  
"We've had some ups and downs--there was a mix up with some sort of virus before, but we settled it nicely with her removing all her clothes."  
  
"Nice way to work things out," Simon commented appreciatively out of the corner of his mouth, slightly envious.  
  
"I've always thought so."  
  
They drove on in silence, and Sark was content to let the man stew on his long history with Sydney. So he'd taken some of the details and messed with them. At least he was partially speaking the truth, which was always the best way to lie.  
  
"So where are you now? Just picking up where you left off?"  
  
"Julia tells me I'm not the most demonstrative man when it comes to being in a relationship such as ours, but she was the one who refused to wear her engagement ring."  
  
"R--ring?" He stuttered, now truly worried for his welfare, being that he and Julia had done a few more. questionable things that seemed much worse now that he'd found out she'd been engaged at the time.  
  
"Well, yes. That was what our big fight was about, ultimately leading to my capture and her disappearance, which is when you found her. I'd wanted her to wear the ring, and she was afraid it would detract from her missions. She stormed out, I went after her. . .the CIA went after me. The rest, as they say, is history." He turned mysterious eyes on the other man. "Anything else you'd like to know about Julia?"  
  
"Just this. If she claims to love you so very much, why didn't she mention the engagement? I might have stopped our relationship from progressing further had I known."  
  
They both knew that was ridiculous.  
  
And Sark imagined that Sydney had never mentioned anything like that to Simon because he'd only just found out about it less than thirty seconds ago. He would have to do some fast-talking to get out of this one. That, and pray like hell that Julia was like Sydney. Otherwise, he'd have some serious explaining to do.  
  
* * *  
  
"I can't believe you told him we were engaged. You're Sark. You don't just get engaged. You're one of the highest paid mercenaries in the world. Do you even know what type of price would be on your fiancée's head if that ever got out?"  
  
Sark eyed her carefully. "That's why I told Simon we kept it to ourselves-- in hindsight, another excellent reason why you refused to wear your ring."  
  
"The ring that, just like the details of this story, does not exist."  
  
"Oh no, Sydney." He spoke with an unnerving seriousness that worried her. "It most certainly exists. You'll have to come away with me to see it."  
  
"Yes, because the CIA will go for that."  
  
Tired of arguing with her, or perhaps just tired of examining the viewpoint from all perspective's for so long, Sark stood and retrieved his gun, placing it in his front jacket pocket.  
  
"Sydney, get some rest. All this stress is making you cranky."  
  
Before she could protest, he'd left. She was sitting in the middle of her living room, on what used to be her favorite new piece of furniture, wondering if he had ever really been there at all.  
  
And why, out of all the plausible scenarios, he'd made them engaged.  
  
* * *  
  
"Hi. I hope I'm not interrupting."  
  
Lauren looked up from the novel she was reading and offered a brief smile. "Not at all. I had a feeling you'd want to see him, so I tried to stay awake. How are things?"  
  
It was quite strange to have your ex-boyfriend's wife ask you how your day went.  
  
"They're. . .well, things. Is he awake?"  
  
"No, he's been sleeping all afternoon. I kept hoping he would wake up, but so far he hasn't. The doctors aren't worried, though I am."  
  
Tears filled her eyes and Sydney rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Why don't you go home and take a shower. I'll stay here and look after him. I won't let anything happen, okay?"  
  
Lauren sniffled. "Okay." She gathered her things, gave her husband one last look, and headed out the door.  
  
Sydney breathed a huge sigh of relief and sat at his bedside. "C'mon Vaughn. I need you awake."  
  
As if hearing her plea, the slumbering man slowly showed signs of life. He snorted once in his sleep and then awoke just as suddenly.  
  
"Sydney? Where's Lauren?"  
  
She reminded herself that it wasn't exactly her place to feel crushed at his questioning his wife's whereabouts. "She went home. She was really a mess."  
  
"I tried to tell her she was just wearing herself out, but she wouldn't listen." Vaughn watched Sydney attempt a smile. "Hey. You okay?" Even doped up on painkillers, he still knew when something was off.  
  
Sydney's gaze wandered around the room, as if the answer was imprinted on his heart monitor or maybe the florescent lights. He gave reached for her hand and watched as everything came out in a rush.  
  
"Have you ever been in a position where you wanted something so badly, it just seems to fall into your lap by sheer force of will? And then--there's such a huge list of things that could go wrong, the consequences alone make you shudder, and the people you know you'd hurt. What do you do? Do you take that leap? And risk their emotions? How selfish is that?"  
  
She wasn't telling him everything. But she needed his opinion. Still. After everything. And she needed it badly. "Syd. . .for as long as I've known you- -and as *well* as I've known you. . .you are not a selfish person. Your life has been turned upside down. And if there's a way to make it right, to get the answers you need so much. then screw 'em. Just do it. You can afford to be selfish for once."  
  
"Thank you." She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go and rose from her chair.  
  
"You're welcome." He moved to sit up. "Why do I get this crazy feeling this is goodbye?"  
  
Sydney waited until she was almost out the door to quietly reply, "Because you've always had good instincts."  
  
* * *  
  
It wasn't as if she needed Vaughn's permission to do what she was about to do. It was her personal choice, but who could blame her for wanting a second opinion. She'd have to find some way to keep in touch with her dad-- she couldn't bear leaving him in the dark again if it was avoidable--and obviously a few ground rules would have to be laid down. But it was simply easier to do it this way.  
  
"Now how do I get a hold of him," she muttered, wishing there was some sort of 1-800-Sark hotline she could call. Never around when you wanted him. Always there when you didn't.  
  
Her eyes fell on a slip of white paper wedge in between two bottles of wine. She reached for it.  
  
~ Very poor vintage. That will need to be remedied as soon as possible. Can't have my fiancé drinking bad wine.  
  
Should you ever need to reach me, you can use the number below.  
  
--Well if you don't know who this is by now, we have some serious problems. And I'm not talking about the wine. ~  
  
Sydney couldn't help but smile, just a little, as she reached for the phone and dialed the number. It rang once.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm leaving the CIA."  
  
There was a long pause. "Fabulous."  
  
* * *  
  
Well? It's 6 1/2 pages, so I hope that makes up for how long it took me to update. Please please PLEASE review. I skipped an essay so I could work on this. It needs your reviews to keep it alive. 


	4. Part Four

DECEIVE | PART FOUR  
  
* * *  
  
A single piece of paper had been tucked under her doormat. An address was written on it. Curious, she tried to locate it on a map, and when that didn't work, she resorted to the internet. It didn't exist. And besides, it was way too early to be figuring this out with no coffee.  
  
She grabbed the phone and dialed the number from memory.  
  
"Good morning, Sydney. How are you feeling?"  
  
How he could sound so cordial at 7:30 in the morning was beyond her. Maybe he'd had his coffee already. Did he even drink coffee? She remembered he was waiting for her answer and replied, "Like my head is in a fog. Did you drug my wine?"  
  
"You drank some?" He seemed genuinely shocked that someone would drink it and she wondered when he'd had time to develop such an appreciation for wine in the first place. Maybe between assassinations. "Oh, come now. It probably gave it some flavor, and you desperately needed the rest. Once you wake up, I think you'll find you feel much better."  
  
She wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. "Why is there an address to a nonexistent place on my doorstep?"  
  
"So you did find it. I wasn't sure you would," he ignored her question to carry on his own half of the conversation, "being that you drank laced wine last night."  
  
The only thing that kept Sydney from screaming was the fact that fact that Weiss was a mere wall away. "Why don't you just tell me where you want me to go?"  
  
"Because I suspect, that were I in your position, you'd send me straight to Hell. And frankly, I spent two years there, and I'm not too eager to go back. It will be good to stretch your mind a little. I'd hate to think that your level of intelligence had dulled in the time you were. . . away."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed, standing up in irritation.  
  
Silence. And then, "Says the woman standing on her couch."  
  
Surprised, she dropped in a tangle of limbs and winced in pain.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Sydney scrambled off the couch and started for the windows, pulling down the shades. "Tell me where you are, you--"  
  
He let out a gasp of outrage. "Sydney! I am your fiancé! No disparaging nicknames, please. Same goes for Muffin, Pooh-Bear, Snookums--"  
  
Her anger dissolved into giggles.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"You are." How could she explain that "Snookums" with his accent sounded. so funny?  
  
Slightly miffed, he cleared his throat and waited for her laughter to subside. "You will figure out the address in due time. And may I suggest you pack of bag of the things you can't possibly bear to leave behind? You will not be returning for at least three months."  
  
* * *  
  
Of course, she'd figured it out. It had even almost been fun. Properly deciphered, it led her to a private airport outside of LA. At his suggestion, she'd packed a small rolling suitcase of the essentials and taken a cab from town so as not to around Weiss' suspicions.  
  
She knew he'd worry eventually, but every minute she had was precious and the longer he didn't suspect, the better off she'd be.  
  
The plane Sark had sent for her was the typical private jet. Nothing really stood out in her mind and for some reason, that warred with her impression of him. The man was accustomed to luxury and yet he did nothing to customize his jet.  
  
"Do you know where Mr. Sark is?" Sydney asked the steward. He looked at her blankly. She frowned. He'd spoken English before, and even introduced himself as Phillipe to her "Julia." Then it hit her and she inwardly groaned. Of course, if she was Julia. . . "Do you know where my fiancé is? He'd promised we'd make the trip together."  
  
"Oh!" His face lit up in understanding. "Yes. He was regrettably called away to business and had to take his personal jet to Europe. Perhaps there is something I can get to make your flight more comfortable?"  
  
"No," she smiled reassuringly. "I think I'll just take a nap. Will you let me know when we arrive at. . ." Sydney trailed off, hoping he'd leak more information.  
  
The older man grinned toothily, shaking a finger at her. "Oh no. I'm not telling you where we're flying. You just get some sleep and let us take care of the rest."  
  
When he disappeared into the galley, Sydney allowed herself a sigh. So, Sark had already flown ahead to Europe. But it wasn't as if she hadn't flown before. It wasn't like he needed to hold her hand or anything.  
  
The steward trundled back towards her, a glass of merlot in his hand. "He instructed that you be given this before takeoff."  
  
Great. Probably more drugged wine.  
  
Either he was trying to tell her something or he had some serious Arvin Sloane/SD-6 issues to work out.  
  
She downed it in one gulp and handed back the glass, trying not to laugh at his expression. "Thanks."  
  
The low rumble of the engines started below them and he gave her one last look. She smiled back at him. He looked sufficiently scared and she settled back into her chair with a smirk playing at her lips.  
  
So he wanted to throw her off guard.  
  
Two could play that game.  
  
* * *  
  
"Would you look at that? All safe and sound, as promised." Simon was smiling, pleased at having completed his job. "Here. Cheers!" He handed Sark a bottle of wine.  
  
Sark didn't even bother to check what kind it was before taking a long pull. He fleetingly thought of Sydney, all curled up in a big leather chair, sleeping off the effects of her second glass of drugged wine. For an operative as useful as her, it was hard to imagine that she'd be out the world right now. But right before Simon had arrived, he'd called his contact on the plane who confirmed that not only had she guzzled it, but that she'd promptly passed out shortly after.  
  
Sark closed the lid to the case and shook hands with Simon. "Excellent. Biological weapons, please."  
  
He watched as Simon traded cases with the sidekick that Sydney hadn't liked, and opened it for his inspection. He glanced at it, satisfied with its condition, and gave Simon a razor-sharp smile. "Glad we didn't incur any further problems."  
  
Simon waved the other man aside so he could talk to Sark privately. "No. Everything checked out clean, and there's been no record of the other man. Julia must have really taken it hard."  
  
His brow lifted. "She doesn't like betrayal. Learned that early on in our relationship."  
  
"Right. How's that going, anyway? I tried calling her to pass on my congratulations, but she didn't answer. Oddest thing."  
  
"She's on her way over right now, as a matter of fact, so you can tell her yourself the next time you see her." Sark didn't feel it necessary to tell the other man that he'd cut off "Julia's" service and looped it straight to his voicemail. If Simon had anything to say, he'd know of it.  
  
Just like any normal, loving fiancé would.  
  
"Oh, good. I think we've got another job coming up and I'd love to have Julia on the team."  
  
"I'll let her know." Sark walked over to the car and hopped in. He revved the engine a few times and waited for Simon to get out of the way. He'd done a good job this time, there really was no need to run him over, after all. He would save that if he ever got too close to Sydney. Simon ambled over and rested his arms on the passenger door.  
  
"So you found your car, eh?"  
  
"It would appear so." Sark was rapidly loosing patience with the man. The plane was due to touch down any minute now and he really hadn't wanted to be late.  
  
"Where was it?"  
  
Sark glanced beyond the alley, hoping to convey his impatience. Simon slowly lifted his arms. "About twenty miles away."  
  
"Really. Well. Ta, mate," Simon gave him a half-cocked salute and Sark hit the gas, wishing at that moment, that the man had never moved from his original location. Julia would have been upset, but she'd have gotten over it. Hopefully.  
  
* * *  
  
The next time she opened her eyes, she was in a different plane. She was in a plane again, because there was that undeniable flight-like feeling, and the hint of turbulence hanging in the air. But her seat was softer and the main cabin--what she could see of it, anyway--was done in soft neutrals with rich cherry fixtures and very mod looking lamps that rested on tables and branched out from chairs.  
  
Instinctively, she knew, this was Sark's personal jet. Why this should be some important was beyond her. She moved to get up and was held back by the seat belt. So not only had someone transferred her from one plane to the other, but they'd taken the time to buckle her in, as well. She unclasped it and moved down the aisle. There were three doors. One was a bathroom, the other was locked. The last door slid back to reveal a wine rack that scaled great lengths.  
  
Oh yeah. It was his, all right.  
  
The sound of a throat clearing startled her and she nearly took two levels of vintage wine down in the process of turning around. It was Phillipe.  
  
"Is there a particular vintage you were looking for?"  
  
"No. I think I've had enough wine for today. I was just looking around. How much longer until we touch down again?"  
  
"Less than three quarters of an hour, miss."  
  
She wanted to read, but had forgotten to pack a book and was still feeling a little groggy. Sydney headed back to her seat and closed her eyes again.  
  
* * *  
  
It wasn't the feeling of being shaken out of a sound sleep so much as it was that someone was watching her. Call it a spy instinct, or gut feeling, but she knew that she was being watched. Her eyes flew open to meet the invader of her peace and revealed Sark, sitting calmly across from her.  
  
"I was wondering if you were going to sleep the whole journey."  
  
Disorientated at seeing him, and realizing that they had once again, landed without her knowledge, she sat up straighter against her chair. Sometime during her second nap, someone had tucked a blanket around her. Touched, and slightly disturbed at the notion of being tucked in at the age of 30, she turned her attention back to Sark.  
  
"Well, that's what happens when you keep taking drugs. Nice collection you have, back there. Are they all laced, too?"  
  
"Of course not. What a terrible waste that would be."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Where are we?"  
  
"We've landed outside Paris. Phillipe needs to get home to his family and I think we can take a side-trip before jumping into this arrangement." He didn't tell her that seeing her after a 24-hour hiatus had shaken him and he was beginning to wonder just what kind of hold she had on him. He wished to use the time to explore their chemistry, to see how far the charade could go and how well they could keep it up. The potential was there, certainly, but perhaps their earlier encounters had been mere strokes of luck, and when they spent more time in each other's presence, things would go haywire.  
  
Sark had a feeling they would go haywire whether he was prepared for it or not.  
  
"Simon sends his best wishes."  
  
Her features noticeably softened at the other man's name and she smiled gently. "That was nice."  
  
"There is nothing nice about that man, Sydney. You should know that already."  
  
"What I do know, Sark, is that for some reason, Julia trusted him. So I, at least on some part, will trust him." When he frowned at her disapprovingly, she bitingly slipped in, "It can't be any worse than trusting you."  
  
Sark smirked. "But darling. You *don't* trust me." He leaned in and cupped her cheek unexpectedly, throwing both of them off guard. It seemed as if her breathing had slowed considerably, but he could feel her pulse jumping erratically underneath his hand and that only cemented his next action.  
  
He moved even close and kept his eyes on hers, tucking back a loose strand of her hair. Sydney's eyes darkened in color at the gesture and she wasn't really in a position to respond as he brushed his lips over her forehead.  
  
Sark gently released her and stood up, extending a hand for her to follow suit. She accepted, but it wasn't until after they'd exited the jet and cleared the tarmac that she felt certain her voice was steady enough to ask, "What was that all about?"  
  
He glanced over at her, heading for the limo. "Practice, Sydney. Merely practice."  
  
Sydney didn't tell him that was one area they didn't need practice in.  
  
* * *  
  
I don't know where that came from. I just started with the title and it just. took off. Let me know what you think! 


	5. Part Five

[DECEIVE | PART FIVE  
  
A/N: Last update for at least 2 weeks. I have some schoolwork to catch up on and this is getting to be a little too demanding. Don't worry, I'll keep writing down my notes and have massive Sarkney on the brain. . . but it's got to take a backseat for a little while. At least until Christmas break.  
  
* * *  
  
She was learning that even if they weren't trying to meet someone somewhere, Sark preferred speed over safety. That taking corners well over 60 MPH wasn't being flashy, or trying to show off, it was just the way he drove. That getting him to change this aspect of his personality would be completely out of the question. Even if they were supposedly engaged.  
  
Then another thought occurred to her: Would Julia have a problem with the way he drove? Did she even care? Did she drive like this?  
  
"Did you teach me how to drive?"  
  
Sark gave her an incredulous look from the corner of his eye. "Sydney, I'm afraid you've done a masterful job of all criminal car chase scenes if you didn't learn to drive until I came into your life."  
  
She swatted him on the arm and the car swerved slightly into the other lane as a result. "You know what I mean. Do I drive like you now--because I learned from you?"  
  
He seemed to understand the obscurity in her statement and clarified, "Do you have some of my habits as a result of our relationship, you mean?" Sydney nodded. Sark took time considering his answer, and Sydney watched in amazement as the speedometer lowered accordingly.  
  
"I think that your being with me has made you more reckless," he finally spoke. "And while 'Julia,' is a bit of a live wire, I've given you purpose. Made you driven. Whereas you have loosened me up considerably. And you're forever at me to slow down, even though you secretly love the feeling of speed."  
  
The lull in conversation made each very aware of their space in such close quarters and she wanted to fidget in her seat anxiously.  
  
"Of course, our sex life is indescribable." Sark said as an afterthought.  
  
Her eyes widened and she turned to him. "Maybe because it's *non- existent*," she hissed, daggers shooting from her eyes.  
  
His brow lifted as they took another left into what suddenly turned into a small town. "Indescribable, indeed."  
  
* * *  
  
He led her into the quaint hustle and bustle of the provincial village as if he'd been there many times before. With ease, he navigated around a fruit cart and coffee stand, stopping only once to purchase a white rose that he tucked into her hair with a smirk.  
  
The gesture touched her but at the same time, set off warning bells in her head. Why was Sark being like this? He was almost. pleasant to be with. Sydney resolved to not let any more of his attempts at creating some bit of romance between them get to her. Like, what was with that move he'd made on the plane? What *was* that? She shook her head and put more space between them.  
  
No sooner had she done so, before Sark easily reached an arm across the distance and clasping his hand comfortably at her waist. It drew them together once more, and to Sydney's discomfort, even closer than they had been previously.  
  
Sark noted her stiff demeanor and inwardly smiled. He was getting to her and they both knew it. He lowered his mouth to her ear and whispered, "It might just behoove you to act like my fiancée, for now. Simon could have several tails on us at this point, just to see if we really *are* a couple."  
  
"Right, because they could have kept up with your insane driving!"  
  
Instead of replying in kind, his eyes softened.  
  
"Oh, no," she muttered, quietly, backing up. "You stay away from me while you have that look in your eye."  
  
The shark's grin expanded on his face as he dipped his head to hers. She had fully intended to turn away, but the fire in his eyes held her still, like a magnet. Still grinning, he kissed the right corner of her mouth and reached down to lace their fingers together.  
  
"Still want me to stay away?"  
  
She met his dancing blue eyes and felt more of her carefully constructed walls coming down. "Yes," she sullenly muttered.  
  
Sark's gaze darted down to their hands and he whistled softly.  
  
Against her will, Sydney felt the corners of her mouth breaking into a grin. She sighed. He was hopeless.  
  
* * *  
  
The ground-floor apartment Sark brought her to was surprisingly simple.  
  
"It's not mine," he said, off her incredulous look. "It belongs to. . . a friend. I've been given use of it to store a few of my belongings."  
  
She tore her eyes away from the disturbingly familiar layer of interior decorating and watched as he moved what looked like a very heavy picture aside. Behind it rested a safe.  
  
Feeling her gaze, he shook his head slightly. "Do you mind?"  
  
Shocked, and slightly humored by the question, she obligingly turned around and waited until she heard it open before moving. He held a small black box in his left hand and closed the safe with his right, setting the picture back up with ease. Sark beckoned her over to the window seat and indicated that she should sit down.  
  
Sydney did, eyebrows raised in askance. He seemed to be weighing the box in his hand, but she knew enough about him that Sark often did one thing while working on another. He wasn't really interested in the weight of the box, rather, he was probably deciding what to do with it.  
  
Abruptly, he handed it to her. The movement both shocked and startled her, for it was out of character for him to move so choppily, and give up his prize without a fight. She took it curiously, wondering what was inside. The intensity of his stare was starting to give her the chills and so, without speaking, she lifted the lid.  
  
It was the ring.  
  
The stone embedded in the platinum was a shocking fuchsia color--the exact shade of her hair that night so long ago in a smoky club when things had seemed so much simpler. Just days before her life had taken one of many earth-shattering changes.  
  
Startled, she jerked her head up to find him watching her and she knew. He had bought the ring, made it, had it done--whatever--and thought of her. The fact alone was unsettling. The realization itself would take days to kick in. And the true impact wouldn't hit her for another month or so.  
  
"I guess I should be thanking you right about now," she said, powerless to tear her gaze away from the bright colored stone. His fingers came into view and gently tugged the ring away, where she followed their trail to her left hand, as he fit it on her shaking hand. It tugged once over her knuckle, then slid smoothly down to rest at the base of her finger, looking for all in the world like it belonged there.  
  
She was shaken to see that it fit her so well, and to find that she was unable to keep from lifting her hand to the light and admiring the cut. "It's beautiful."  
  
Sark, who hadn't taken his gaze off her for a moment, and was watching her enchantment with the ring, replied, "I expected nothing less." For god's sake, why had all those men in her life screwed up so badly? All she needed was a little attention and she simply glowed.  
  
He plucked her hand out of the air and tangled his fingers comfortably with hers. Her pulse jumped slightly against his wrist and he inwardly smiled. He led her to the door and they walked outside, trying to forget the severity of the moment that had just passed. He gently swung their joined hands together, loosening her gait and easing the tension out of her shoulders.  
  
"You know, for someone who doesn't do this sort of thing every day, I've got to hand it to you; I was totally convinced you wanted to marry me back there."  
  
She'd put her sunglasses on against the brightness and he found it disappointing that he could no longer read her eyes. "Of course I do." She stilled abruptly at the admission and he gamely tugged her along, planting a kiss to her temple. "Come on, love. Let's go for a drive until you get this sorted out."  
  
* * *  
  
And so they were driving again.  
  
She sat silently in her seat, listening as the wind rushed through the car, having little regard for the state her hair would be in when she eventually got out. Her attention was still fastened on the ring on her left hand and he had to congratulate himself on purchasing the stone nearly four years ago.  
  
\\\Sark had left the nightclub with a day's worth of freedom between the next assignment from Irina. They no longer had Tippin in their custody, but he was going to get him from CIA custody in less 24 hours and Irina knew of what importance he placed upon personal time. She'd told him to be back well after dark and that he needn't worry about things until then.  
  
So he'd done something he rarely allowed himself to do. He wandered. Without a purpose, without any set location in mind. Just. . . walked. His footsteps led him to a particularly ornate jewelry display, with gems of various shades and colors. He had been all but ready to leave when a pink stone nearly hiding in the back, caught his attention.  
  
Five minutes later, he'd had it removed from the dull gold setting and was the proud owner of what was classified as crimson tanzanite. While tanzanite, always a purple-blue in color, was somewhat of a rarity, it came nowhere near the scarcity of the red variation. It was a striking stone, and not knowing why, he'd purchased it purely on a whim.  
  
Later, when he got home, he'd given it closer consideration and froze in shock. He'd bought it because it reminded him of Sydney. Whom he'd met all of once, and seen a handful of times. He knew she was Irina's daughter, and knew (at least vaguely) about her. But that didn't explain why she'd influenced his choice in buying a precious stone more exceptional than diamonds.  
  
That night, as he stood on the end of the nearby docks, fully prepared to throw it away, he opened the box again and stared at it. Settled gently against the black velvet it sparkled like fire in the moonlight. Sark shivered against the wind and set it back in his pocket.  
  
He would not be getting rid of it.  
  
Of that much, he was certain.///  
  
So it was of little consequence, after he'd carried their charade a few steps forward and deduced that Sydney would need some form of ring, that he'd taken it back to the same jeweler and had it set in platinum. It fit her perfectly and defied the viewer to take their eyes away from it.  
  
So far, it had worked. Sydney couldn't tear her eyes away. But her body was still rigid with questions and he knew he had to answer at least a few of them.  
  
"We're going to rest tonight. There is a house outside of Paris that I had originally intended to take you to. I hadn't prepared for a side- trip. . . but it seems to have worked out for the best." She met his eyes with what could only be described as a deer in the headlights look. For some reason, she'd been completely different after receiving the ring.  
  
Not wanting to dwell on such things, he continued, "We'll spend a few days there. Simon spoke to me about a new job he thought you'd be interested in. It's your decision whether or not you take it, but we will have to start planting tangible evidence of our relationship for the past two years. He has questions, and you'll need to be prepared to answer them."  
  
She nodded mutely and lifted her eyes to the road. Sark attempted eye contact, slightly annoyed when she refused to meet his gaze. She sighed once, quietly, and then closed her eyes.  
  
To his utter amazement, she fell asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
Thoughts?  
  
Quick side note: this has been driving me nuts, so I just want to point out this important fact: Sark bought the *STONE* almost four years ago. NOT THE RING. HE HAD THE RING MADE AFTER SYDNEY WENT BACK TO THE STATES WITH VAUGHN. Ahem. Sorry. Didn't mean to yell, there. 


	6. Part Six

DECEIVE | PART SIX  
  
NOTES: Okay, okay. I'm evil. I never should have waited this long to post. Hell, I shouldn't have taken this long to write it out. But here it is. Better late then never, right? Have fun with these two stubborn spies, will ya? I know I did.  
  
* * *  
  
She was being suffocated. With a start, Sydney pushed back from the marshmallow that was trying to kill her and opened her eyes. She was in Sark's safehouse, outside of Paris. There was a vase of roses across from her and a white duvet resting atop the bed. Somehow her face had gotten mashed in the pillows, leaving her to dream of being smothered.  
  
She rubbed her eyes and winced. Slowly, she drew her hand down and stared at the platinum ring on her finger. It was just as stunning as when he'd given it to her. And she'd forgotten to take it off last night.  
  
"Damn," she muttered, shoving her hair into place. Out of habit, she reached into the nightstand drawer for a band to ponytail her hair with. What surprised her was that there were several packages of them, just waiting to be opened.  
  
"Creepy."  
  
Since she had been dead to the world last night when they'd arrived and she had no recollection of seeing the room before--Sark must have carried her in from the car--Sydney took the opportunity to scout the room out. The furniture was white, the canopy bed was white, even the marble flooring in her lavish bathroom was white.  
  
There was an antique bathtub, along with several bottles of bubble bath and folded plump towels. Her window--made of glass, unbarred--provided a great view of the grounds and gave her some idea of just how large this safe house was. She was getting the feeling that it was less of a place to hide and more of Sark's place of living.  
  
The manicured lawn spanned acres leading away from the house, so far in the distance it began to hurt her head from squinting. "My god. This isn't a house at all."  
  
It was a mansion.  
  
With a devious grin and playful look in her eyes, she darted to the set of double doors adjacent to the bathroom. "Yes!" She whooped and darted into the huge closet. It totally kicked the CIA's ass when it came to wardrobe. She ran her hands over the silks, drooled over the shoes and couldn't contain her grin when she came to the leather.  
  
This was going to be fun.  
  
* * *  
  
"I see you found the kitchen."  
  
She nearly jumped three feet in the air. Carefully, Sydney set the cup of coffee down and counted to ten, breathing deeply. She would not let him see how much he'd just frightened her. She would not let him see--she turned around and was met with the blinding smirk on his face.  
  
"Jerk," she muttered, preferring instead to glare out the window.  
  
He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if trying to figure her out, and decided to work around her. "I hope you like eggs," he began amiably, "because that's what we're having this morning. I normally skip breakfast, but we've got a long day ahead of us. And you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."  
  
That had her whirling around to face. "What the hell is that supposed to me?"  
  
Sark lifted his cup to her in a salute before sipping. "Whatever you want it to mean."  
  
She rolled her eyes and threw herself into the chair across from his. "I should have just stayed in bed," she grumbled, clutching her coffee like it was a lifeline.  
  
"I agree. It would have been infinitely more fun if I had been there to wake you up rather than spend half the morning searching for you."  
  
She spewed coffee everywhere.  
  
"Honestly, Sydney, must you infect everything with that vile substance? It cuts years off your life, you know." He reached in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She mopped where the liquid was dripping off her chin and stared at the dirty linen before handing it back to him.  
  
Sark's lip curled on one side but he took it anyway. "You missed a spot," he leaned over and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. She was stock still by the time he finished and he sat back with a satisfied little grin. "Ah. Here are the eggs now."  
  
A maid came in and set the food down on the table. She'd been gone well over five minutes when Sark gently inquired, "Sydney? Are you going to eat?"  
  
She shook her head and stared at him. His brow went up in response, as he nodded reassuringly. "Right. Eat," she said stiltedly, reaching for her fork.  
  
Sark hid his smile behind a napkin and glanced at his watch. "Simon said he would call mid-morning. We've got about two hours to talk strategy."  
  
She looked up from her eggs. "Hmm?"  
  
"Did you hear anything I just said?"  
  
"No, I was too busy focused on these eggs. What do you put in them?" Sark gave her a hard look. She blinked innocently. "Was it something I said?"  
  
His gaze fell to her nearly clean plate. "You really *haven't* been eating, have you?"  
  
She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't see what this has to do with Simon's phone call."  
  
Sark's eyes twinkled. "I thought you didn't hear me."  
  
"It's kind of hard to tune you out sometimes. You're like a foghorn in my head."  
  
"Lovely. Just what every fiancé wants to be known as in their beloved's mind."  
  
"Whatever you say, Pooh-Bear," she replied, biting into a slice of toast.  
  
In the amount of time it took her to blink, he was standing over her with a dangerous smile. He brushed the crumbs off her hands and drew up her beside him. "Sydney. . . use that exceptional IQ I know you've got stashed up there. And don't *ever* call me that again."  
  
His close proximity was disconcerting. And he wouldn't take his eyes off her. She shifted again, but he caught her wrists and continued to stare at her intensely. "Do you think you can handle that," he brushed back tendrils of her hair and ran his thumb over her cheek, "Love?"  
  
Hazel eyes fought for solid ground, something to lock onto while regaining strength and failed. She took one close look at his darkened eyes had to lock her knees in place. For some reason, they weren't working.  
  
"Would it be too much to expect a reply?"  
  
What the hell was happening to her? Had he slipped some sort of neuroleptic in her eggs? Why did she feel like she was drowning in the blue of his eyes? She swallowed, looked up at him determinedly and was gratified to see a look of alarm cross his features. As if of its own accord, her hand reached up and she brushed her palm against his hair.  
  
"If your hair was still long, y'know, I could run my fingers through your curls and tug them," she gripped the short little hair between her knuckles, "right here." He kept his eyes on her, daring her to go further. She treated him to a version of his own smirk and winked. "And you can call me Love anytime you want."  
  
She left him momentarily speechless and gathered their plates in her hands. It wasn't until she started frowning, and looking at his kitchen oddly, that he began to regain his speaking facilities.  
  
"What are you looking for, Sydney?"  
  
"The sink. I was going to do the dishes." He chuckled in that calm, infuriating way she hated. "What? Don't tell me there isn't a sink in this place." When he made no move to correct her, she gaped. "You're kidding. How can you not have a *sink*?"  
  
"Because," he smirked, "*I* don't do the dishes. And neither," he deftly took the plates out of her hands and set them on the counter, "Does Julia."  
  
Sark led her out of the kitchen and gripped her hand in a manner that would have been more comforting if they were really engaged, and she was truly in love with him. She really couldn't stand his cocky attitude, and was surprised that it hadn't gotten either of them killed yet. She said as much to him.  
  
He stopped abruptly and she plowed into his chest.  
  
Sark looked down at her head. "If you'd wanted to practice that part of our engagement, all you had to do was ask."  
  
"Shut up," came her muffled reply, as she turned her head to the side to breathe. "My god, what do you have in there, an iron lung? You nearly broke my nose."  
  
"It's not my fault you're clumsy. I find it rather endearing, actually."  
  
She glared up at him. He grinned and kissed her teasingly on the lips. With his arm settled comfortably in the curve of her waist, he continued on to the office.  
  
"And I haven't gotten either of us killed yet," Sark responded to her long-forgotten question, "because I happen to value our lives."  
  
Okay, she'd had enough of his thinly veiled digs. Sydney dug her heels in and forced him to stop awkwardly. "Value this," she murmured hotly, then reached a hand behind his neck to draw his lips to hers.  
  
While the kiss in the hallway had been purely for Simon's benefit, and the one in the car before the op had been purely for Sark, this one belonged entirely to Sydney. As she worked on exploring the texture of his lips, her free hand came up between them to rest against his chest. Her fingers curled, then flattened, and moved even higher to grip his shoulder. Slowly, she traced a pattern on the back of his neck and was rewarded when his hands, suddenly came to rest on either side of her hips. She rocked into him once, twice, a third time, before pulling back and giving him a wide grin.  
  
Not even looking as if she'd just kissed the daylights out him, Sydney smartly replied, "About that phone call?"  
  
He shook his head and struggled on keeping his breathing even. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. He tucked them in his pockets. She grinned and wove her arm through his, once again starting up their walk.  
  
Sark barely had enough brain cells to form a conscious thought, much less direct her to the office and was thankful that she'd taken inventory of the place earlier this morning. When they stood outside the door without further incident, Sydney looked up at him with a tender smile. "Darling, I'm so glad we're in this together."  
  
He was now convinced. Sydney Bristow had lost her mind. There simply was no other explanation.  
  
She flung open the doors and took in the sparsely decorated office. There was a couch near the center of the room and a coffee table with a black phone and folder of papers.  
  
"Ah," Sydney headed for the table, still dragging Sark with her. "Intel. This I can work with, even if you are paralyzed."  
  
He shook himself out of the mental stupor and saw that she was reading over the information. "I may have taken liberties with a few things, but our history remains mostly as it was."  
  
She snorted. "Yeah, except we didn't ride back to your hotel after stealing that antidote and stay in bed for hours."  
  
"I really wouldn't have minded that," Sark gave her a sidelong glance, pleased to see her color briefly.  
  
"I bet you wouldn't have. Too bad for you SD-6 made you sit in coach on the way back home."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Budget cuts, they said. Budget, my ass. They can spend thousands of dollars so you can be adorned in the latest couture, but they can't spare a mere hundred or so for some legroom. I have longer legs, you know. I should have gotten that ticket."  
  
"Somehow, I have a feeling the flight attendant would have had a problem when she checked you in as Elizabeth Dover."  
  
Silence.  
  
With a quiet dignity she didn't know he possessed, Sark replied, "I'll have you know I can pass for a very convincing Elizabeth Dover."  
  
She giggled. "Whatever. Let's get through the rest of this. I don't want to be unprepared when Si calls."  
  
Sark lifted a brow. "*Si*?"  
  
Sydney smiled at the way the contempt dripped from his voice. "Don't be jealous, Snookums. You should know by now I only have eyes for you."  
  
He growled at her.  
  
She thought she heard the words "Bleeding," "Infuriating," and "Woman," but he spoke Cantonese very well. It had been two years for her and some of her languages needed to be dusted off the shelf and put into use. Mentally, she replayed the statement in her mind.  
  
Yeah. He'd definitely said something along those lines.  
  
* * *  
  
Sark let the phone ring twice before even acknowledging he'd heard it. Sydney looked up from her papers and met his gaze steadily.  
  
"Aren't you going to answer it?"  
  
"I thought it would be a nice touch if you did. And maybe you could throw in a bit of grogginess to your tone."  
  
She paused in her reach for the receiver. "Excuse me?"  
  
He smirked. She really was a sight to behold when she retreated back to her frosty attitude, dripping with disdain. Sark fully believed she actually wound up adopting certain mannerisms of her aliases over time. Which, of course, made you wonder where this one came from. He gestured for her to pick it up and she did automatically, still waiting for his answer.  
  
"After all, we want to give him the impression that we're a very happily engaged couple, and perhaps, just perhaps, we don't see the light of day before 11:30 on Wednesdays."  
  
Her eyes burned into him. "Are you out of your mind?"  
  
::Hello? Anyone there? Hello?::  
  
They barely noticed the distant voice coming from the phone as they settled into a staring match.  
  
::Ah, Julia? You there, Babe? What's going on?::  
  
Sark's smirk widened. "You might want to answer that," he quietly spoke, refusing to take his eyes off her.  
  
"Not until we clear this up," she ground out, gripping the phone so tightly Sark began to fear for its welfare.  
  
::Would someone please tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?!::  
  
Sydney flinched at the warning tone in Simon's voice and calmly replied, "We're going to have to call you back."  
  
She slammed the phone down and was standing over Sark in a matter of seconds. "What the hell is going on here? Ever since that near-kiss in the car, you've been completely not yourself. The you sitting here is not the you I love to hate so well."  
  
"I think we're making great progress. It's not so soon that every woman admits to loving her man."  
  
She let out a muffled scream and turned back to get the phone. He grabbed her by the wrist and she tumbled into his lap. He shifted her until they were snugly resting against the couch and treated her to a genuine smile.  
  
"Allow me to call Mr. Walker back, then. Clearly, you're not in a state of being able to hold a conversation at this point."  
  
Sydney tried to extract herself from his grip and failed miserably. It was so, then, when Simon asked for her, she answered the best she could without focusing on just how close Sark was pressed against her. She was distinctly annoyed to hear the breathless quality of her voice and fell back against Sark with a defeated sigh.  
  
He wrapped his arms around her more firmly and squeezed. "Oh, no, Simon you haven't called us at a bad time. Julia was just waking up, as a matter of fact."  
  
::She always did like her sleep.::  
  
"Well, she didn't do much sleeping last night," he flinched suddenly and nearly flew over the couch as Sydney tried to bite his nipple through the thick cable-knit sweater he was wearing. "You know how it is."  
  
::Julia's a wildcat.::  
  
Sark dodged her teeth again and covered the phone with his arm. "What the hell are you doing, Sydney?"  
  
"Just playing along." She tried to bite him again. "I'm a wildcat, remember?"  
  
"All right, that's it," he decided, bodily lifting her up and resituating her until his one arm was around her neck and the other around her waist. "Try that again, and I'll be forced to beat you."  
  
A funny glimmer came into her eye. "Would this beating involve handcuffs, by any chance? I brought my favorite pair in my suitcase."  
  
Dear god. The woman was trying to murder him.  
  
A muffled voice sounded from between them. He looked over her shoulder and saw the phone resting between their legs. "Be a sweetheart, Julia, and get the phone for me, would you?"  
  
"Certainly," she smiled mischievously, deliberately letting her fingers brush against the inside of his thigh. "I think I've almost got it. . . but I can't see, so it might take me a few more tries before I--" the arm around her neck suddenly flew off and she grinned to herself.  
  
"Just so we're clear, I know what you're trying to do here," he muttered in her ear while she put the phone in the hands-free cradle.  
  
"Do you? Truly?" Sydney queried, unthinkingly coming to rest back against his chest. His arm took back its earlier position about her neck, but this time rested more gently, almost comfortably and allowed her more than one way out if she needed it.  
  
As Simon finished winding down his sales pitch, she rolled her eyes and sighed, tucking her head to rest on Sark's shoulder. He reached up and fingered the tips of her hair, silently cataloging her behavior since their arrival. She'd been more receptive to his advances, had gone as far as to make some in return, and proved that she was not as immune to him as she'd like them both to believe. Of course, her attempts at staying in that mind- frame hadn't lasted a heartbeat when he'd requested her cooperation with a simple matter involving Simon and knew that would have to change.  
  
They needed to be able to rely on one another where Simon was concerned. Like it or not, he reported to the Covenant. And while Sark was slowly being given a bit of leeway, anything too out of the ordinary would no doubt get back to them. There was not a doubt in his mind that Simon was doing more than freelance jobs for the organization, and he'd bet his stolen inheritance that part of Simon's job was to check up on their activities.  
  
Damn the man to hell.  
  
::So, Babe, you up for it?::  
  
Sydney turned back to Sark with wide eyes and he realized that she'd been zoned out during Walker's phone call, too. He shrugged, clearing indicating it was her call.  
  
"Sure," she answered, keeping her eyes on him, not letting a trace of her hesitance give her away to Simon.  
  
::Great, then it's all set. We'll meet up in two days time.::  
  
Neither of them knew what she had just agreed to, or if it was indeed a safe thing to do so. Sark wondered how he could pry this information out of the man without letting him know it. "Shall we meet you directly there?"  
  
For the first time in the entire call, Simon chuckled. ::I don't see how, mate, unless you've sprouted wings. We're flying into Siberia. We meet outside of the ice plains. I'll be in touch.::  
  
Sark cursed.  
  
Sydney picked up his foul statement and added her own thoughts to it.  
  
By the time they'd finished, Simon had been beheaded, castrated, and kicked by a donkey in six different languages.  
  
"We've got a problem," she finally said, as if she called Simon Walker things involving a goat, the offspring of a bar maid, and the firing squad of the KGB every day of the week.  
  
Sark admired her ability to compartmentalize. He also admired her extremely foul language. "Where'd you learn that?"  
  
"Dixon taught it all to me when we were stuck inside a bathroom once, in Korea," she answered offhandedly. "Siberia. Why does he have to pick all the cold places?"  
  
"Maybe he just wants to see you in a white tee-shirt," Sark helpfully supplied.  
  
Sydney elbowed him in the gut. "No, that's not it. I mean, that might be part of the reason, but. . . " Tapping a finger against her lips, she wondered. "What's there that he needs so badly, anyway?"  
  
"The Covenant hasn't mentioned anything in the area," he mused, drumming his fingers on her shoulders distractedly. It was sending chills down her spine. She reached up and grabbed his hand. He stopped.  
  
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see."  
  
"I hate that."  
  
"The wait and see?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a huge advocate of it either."  
  
"Oh please. You live for the wait and see method. You love to skulk."  
  
He stood up in offense and she fell to the floor. "What? I do not *skulk*, Sydney!"  
  
She snorted and pulled herself up. "Yeah right."  
  
"I do *not*," he frowned, his forehead furrowing attractively. She bit her lip, smiling, and smoothed her fingers over his brow.  
  
"Do so."  
  
Sydney leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "See you at dinner!"  
  
She left the room and Sark to his thoughts. He sat back down on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Well, this certainly was an odd twist of events, wasn't it? And she was actually warming to him. Fluctuating mood swings aside, he thought it was going rather well.  
  
Until he remembered just why Simon would bring them back to Siberia.  
  
"It's where we first met." Or at least it was, in the distorted history that Simon had gotten, directly out of his mouth. This was a problem, indeed. "Hell."  
  
* * * 


	7. Part Seven

DECEIVE | | PART SEVEN  
  
NOTES: Because I post this over at SD-1 first, and everyone seemed to notice Syd's abrupt change in behavior, I felt you needed some sort of explanation. I have to warn you, though, these two got way out of hand. Sorry for the 9-page update again. It just. . . came to me. I hate it when they take over like that.  
  
* * *  
  
Sydney closed the door behind her with a sigh and slid down to the floor. Calling Sark's bluff had taken too much out of her. It was one thing to pretend you were someone else who had no problem handling cocky assassins, but it was another thing entirely to do it. Digging into your portfolio of aliases for someone who had enough guts to match him step for eyebrow- raising step was cake.  
  
There were more than several women who'd be suitable--funnily enough, Elizabeth Dover was one of them. But she had no idea that she was going to have to become that person entirely to survive this. Frankly, she was feeling a little bit overwhelmed. It seemed like things had moved way too fast for her to keep up and now she was caught in the maelstrom.  
  
She hadn't contacted anyone at home in days. Sydney wondered if they even noticed.  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you mean, my daughter's missing?" Jack spoke in a very low, deceptively calm voice to Agent Weiss.  
  
"Whoa, Mr. Bristow. We don't know if she's really missing--all I know is that she hasn't been home for over a week. I was going to see if she'd been sent away on a mission that we didn't know about. Sometimes, you Bristows do that, you know."  
  
Jack glowered at him. "Let me tell you something, Agent Weiss. *If* my daughter is AWOL right now, then you had better believe she's got a really good reason to be. Now I suggest you keep this to yourself and pretend this conversation *never happened*. As far as you know, Sydney's on assignment. One that *I* sent her on--is that clear?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Good. If you'll excuse me," the older man stepped aside and walked away.  
  
Weiss looked at his watch and decided it was time to go see Vaughn in the hospital.  
  
* * *  
  
Lauren, surprisingly, was not there when he arrived. But Vaughn was awake.  
  
"Hey. I was beginning to think you'd abandoned me."  
  
Weiss smiled easily. "Nah. Just been busy." He looked around conspicuously and handed his friend a burger with great fanfare. "Scarf that down, quick."  
  
Vaughn's eyes lit up. "My god, real food. Did I ever tell you that you're the best?"  
  
"Yeah, a million times. Shut up and eat, okay? I don't want them to fire me over this. I worked hard to get my clearance levels."  
  
Vaughn smiled around a mouthful of double cheeseburger. "So what's going on at the office? Lauren refuses to talk about work while I'm hooked up to machines like this."  
  
"Uh, not much. When're you getting out?"  
  
"Tomorrow, actually. And not a moment too soon." Vaughn crumpled the wrapper into a ball and tossed it perfectly into a trashcan across the room.  
  
"Show off."  
  
"You want to trade? After a couple weeks of this, you can perfect just about everything--including your three-point throw."  
  
Weiss went over to the door and pulled the shade down. "When's the last time you saw Syd?"  
  
Vaughn frowned. "Couple days ago, maybe? I don't remember, time passes differently when you're sleeping a lot. Why? Something wrong?"  
  
"Did she seem--*off* to you somehow?"  
  
The concerned look melted into irritation. "Weiss, what's going on?"  
  
He looked back at the closed door. "She's--"  
  
The door burst open and Lauren bustled in with some papers. "Oh, hello, Eric."  
  
Weiss shot Vaughn a pained look and shrugged in a way that only best friends can understand. Vaughn gave his wife a smile.  
  
"I'm glad you're awake, honey. I just got the doctors to sign the release forms with a little help from Jack Bristow. As soon as we clear this up, you can go home."  
  
Eric's eyes widened. Jack knew he was here. Crap. "Listen you guys, I'd love to stay and help with the transition, but we're working on a big case back at the office. I just wanted to stop and say hi on my lunch break."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Lauren waved him away. "We've got it under control."  
  
"See you later, man." He shot one last significant look at his friend and walked out the door.  
  
She stared after him. "Did Eric seem strange to you at all?"  
  
"No more than usual." Lauren gave him a disbelieving look. "Really, I'm sure he's fine. Probably worried about some deadline or something going on at the office--not that I'd know."  
  
"Can I help it if I'm trying to keep your mind off work? You can't say it hasn't been more relaxing these past few weeks."  
  
"Sure. When they weren't sticking needles and things in me."  
  
She smiled and kissed his forehead. "C'mon. Let's go home."  
  
* * *  
  
The knock on the door nearly scared Sydney half to death.  
  
"Yes," she pulled it open, revealing the same maid who had served breakfast.  
  
"Mr. Sark would like to know what you'd like for dinner."  
  
Sydney glanced at her watch. God, it was already dinnertime? What had happened to the day? "I'm not really ready for dinner just yet, so tell him he can go on and eat without me. Please," she added, feeling woefully inadequate next to this woman who obviously knew more of Sark's habits than she ever would.  
  
"Of course."  
  
The woman left and Sydney once again felt she could breathe easier. She looked out the window, at the wide expanse of green and made a decision. Grabbing a thick sweater to throw over her clothes and a pair of gloves, she left the room and headed for the grounds.  
  
At least out there, no one would bother her.  
  
She needed to clear her head.  
  
* * *  
  
"Mr. Sark, sir."  
  
Sark looked up from the transcript of Simon's last phone call blankly. "What is it?"  
  
"Miss Bristow has just left her room. She was last seen at the doors of the east wing."  
  
He nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Let me know if you hear anything further."  
  
"Of course, sir."  
  
When Philippe turned to leave, Sark called after him. "Did Angelina ask her what she wanted for dinner?"  
  
"She said she wasn't going to eat."  
  
His eyes grew hard. "She can't simply go hungry."  
  
"I agree, sir."  
  
Sark ran a hand over his short hair and set down his paper. "Look, if I'm not back in 45 minutes, send someone after us."  
  
"Naturally."  
  
The younger man shot him a warning look. "And don't you dare laugh."  
  
"I would never do such a thing."  
  
He locked the papers in his top drawer, grabbed his black overcoat, and left his office.  
  
Wonderful. She was scared.  
  
* * *  
  
SD-6 hadn't been entirely bad. Well, okay, yes it had. It was evil and so was Arvin Sloane, despite what he had fooled the rest of the world into believing, but that wasn't the point. The point was, where else would Sydney have learned to scuba-dive, Ballroom dance, and horseback ride in the course of a week? It was through these speedy training sessions she learned what she liked and what she didn't.  
  
Sydney *loved* to ride. It was one of her absolute favorite things, but something she rarely ever did because of her job. It wasn't as if she could keep a horse outside her garage, or even at a stable outside of LA, because people would ask questions. When she had found out that Sark had not only an extensive stable but also over a dozen horses, all the thoughts that had been jumbled in her head suddenly disappeared.  
  
The caretaker saddled up the horse she wanted to ride and she was off before he could even say goodbye.  
  
There wasn't a set path for her to follow, so Sydney let the mare lead and was content to be along for the ride. It was such an odd comfort that had just appeared in her sea of uncertainty and made things a little easier to deal with. If she had at least three things that were familiar, in every situation, she found she could handle most of it and compartmentalize what she couldn't. The problem was, being in an expensive mansion, with Sark, far away from everyone she knew, was sending her brain into overload.  
  
And when that failed, she had to rely on instinct.  
  
Instinct told her to be someone else to get through the day.  
  
So she did.  
  
"Sydney!"  
  
She turned in the saddle and nearly fell off her horse. Sark was right behind her, on a dark stallion, riding after her. Sensing a chase was at hand, the mare took off. Sydney barely had time to grip the reins before she was hanging on for her life. She tried to rein in, but the animal would have none of it. Knowing she didn't exactly have a choice, Sydney closed her eyes and buried her face in the horse's mane.  
  
God, she wished he would just stop chasing her.  
  
* * *  
  
The reins hung slack in his hands as he stared after Sydney's rapidly retreating form for several moments before he spurred his horse into action after her. What on earth was she doing, running off like that? Didn't she understand they had rules to follow, protocol to maintain? Not to mention the fact that Julia Thorne was deathly afraid of horses, whereas Sydney Bristow seemed to love them.  
  
Cursing her, and hoping like hell Simon hadn't found a way to monitor them yet, Sark let his horse pick up the mare's scent and race after her.  
  
* * *  
  
"You know I wouldn't have contacted you if I didn't think it was dire."  
  
"Jack." Irina's melodic voice carried clearly over the thousands of miles that separated them. "I'll make sure the call disappears. What's wrong?"  
  
Jack leaned against the railing and stared at the waves as they crashed violently onto the sand. A storm was coming and he didn't have to be a meteorologist to know it. "Sydney's disappeared. I've inquired delicately around the office, but it was her neighbor that brought it to my attention in the first place."  
  
"Agent Weiss." It wasn't a question.  
  
He didn't know how she'd gotten that information and decided it was better not to ask. "Yes. I told him she was on an assignment--classified, of course--but I don't think he bought it. I need help covering her tracks, but I also need to find her, and I can't do both at the same time."  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
"Start up a false trail of her aliases. I'll pick up wherever you leave off."  
  
She realized what he was thinking, "And while one of us is arranging a paper trail, the other will investigate."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good plan."  
  
"Yes, well, it always works best with someone you trust."  
  
There was a long pause on her end. "Jack, I want you to know how much this means to me--that you're willing to involve me in this."  
  
"Irina," he took a deep breath and abruptly wished, more than anything that he could be standing next to her at that very moment. "She's ours. It's nothing more than you deserve."  
  
"Still," she wasn't going to let him off that easily, "I appreciate it."  
  
There really was nothing he could say to that and they both knew it. "I, uh- -"  
  
"--Should probably go. The longer we talk, the harder it's going to be to make this disappear."  
  
Jack growled. "That wasn't what I was going to say."  
  
"It's true," she answered simply.  
  
"Hell with it," he muttered to himself, knowing she could probably hear that, too. "I miss you."  
  
Thousands of miles couldn't make a dent in their silent bond. He felt her smiling and knew he'd done well by taking the risk. "I love you, too," she whispered, and hung up the phone.  
  
Jack stared down at the offending object darkly. That was Irina for you. She took your hard-earned admission and translated it, only to throw it back in your face. He couldn't help the tiny smile on his lips. Probably better that she wasn't next to him right now.  
  
He had a sudden urge to show her what he thought of her parting remarks.  
  
* * *  
  
When she smelled a difference in the air, she finally opened her eyes and made a decision. She yanked the reins in sharply and the horse came to a halt. There was a canyon before her. It was absolutely beautiful. Sark and his horse came skidding to a stop beside her.  
  
"What was that?" He asked calmly, trying to catch his breath.  
  
Sydney looked at him with something in her eyes he couldn't define. "Did you know about this?" She gestured to the area around them.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
He looked taken aback. "Sydney, you just arrived last night. Between your unusual behavior this morning and Simon's phone call--I apologize for being such a bad host and not showing you around sooner," he sarcastically replied.  
  
Sydney dismounted and walked to stand on the edge of the cliff. "It's beautiful."  
  
Sark shook his head in disbelief and tethered their horses. "It was inherited," he moved to stand next to her, fighting the urge to pull her back from the edge. She wouldn't jump just to escape their current situation, right? He wasn't about to take that chance, and lightly guided her away.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
It was curious, she mused, to hear the faint level of concern in his voice. She wondered if this was part of his act. "Are you being Sark now?"  
  
If he looked confused before, now he was completely lost. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
She folded her arms defensively. "I've tried to understand your behavior for the past few weeks and I can't. The first minute, you're demanding to know what I'm doing--telling me that Simon is a rag, the next, you're drugging me and ordering me to sleep. Then you tell me we're engaged, and this is another version of the Sark I know. Maybe this is the wrong thing to be admitting out loud, but you're confusing me! I don't know which one you're going to be when I'm in your presence and I can't keep preparing for all of them!"  
  
"Why do you need to prepare?" Sark quietly asked, filing away each word she'd just spoken.  
  
Sydney shut her eyes and turned away. He couldn't stop from pulling her back to face him.  
  
"Sydney."  
  
When her eyes opened again, she was angry. "Who am I to you? Am I Julia Thorne? Am I someone you're going to use to get back at the Covenant for stealing your money? Is this some way of screwing me over because I killed your father?!"  
  
The change in his face was remarkable. It was as if someone had pulled a switch and shut down every hint of emotion he'd begun to show. The eyes that had been almost warm with concern cooled off, and the grip on her arm began to hurt. "What are you talking about?"  
  
She looked at him with a grim smile. "They didn't tell you, did they?"  
  
Sark now held her arms with enough force to bruise. "I will not *ask* again."  
  
"I murdered your father as Julia Thorne. And it felt good," she lied, twisting the knife in further.  
  
He'd never had a problem hitting her before. But for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to do so now. Instead, he released her arms and shoved her away from him. "I don't think you want to be having this conversation right now."  
  
She stumbled twice before getting her footing and saw that he was as conflicted as she was. Well, good. He deserved to be confused. "I'll do whatever I want."  
  
"No, you will not."  
  
Her eyes sparked dangerously. "You can't tell me what to do."  
  
Sark took in her stance, the paleness of her face, and the way she seemed to be hanging onto her resentment like a security blanket. She was still scared. And she was lashing out at him. "Are you certain of that," he murmured, at her side in one of those quick maneuvers she could never seem to anticipate.  
  
Sark took her lips with bruising force and moved her backward steadily until the rough bark of a tree stopped his advancement. But he wasn't satisfied. Not yet. He barely let her catch her breath before sliding his hand underneath her sweater and pulling her tightly to him. He now rained hot kisses along her neck and pulled the thick cotton aside to gain access to her smooth skin. She was gasping, completely unprepared for the onslaught, and helpless to do anything but let him continue. When he reached a particularly sensitive spot on the side of her neck, her knees buckled and she could no longer stand on her own.  
  
It didn't matter, though, because he was showing her that he was a full- blooded male who know exactly what he wanted and how to get it. God, why hadn't it been like this when Vaughn had kissed her? It made her want to just rip the clothes right off him and--she turned her head sharply, letting his kiss land on her ear.  
  
"Stop," she whispered, her hands on his shoulders. "Just. . . stop."  
  
Sark looked at her swollen lips and shimmering brown eyes and immediately wanted to kiss her all over again. Not that she had to know that, of course. "Why?" He asked, tracing a pattern on her back.  
  
She trembled ever so slightly and closed her eyes again. "Because we have to stop."  
  
"That's a really poor reason, you know. Especially coming from someone with a rather extraordinary intellect." Sark brushed a hand at her eyelashes, and waited for them to open.  
  
Sydney was trying to regain her composure, but he kept doing these things to her, these little gestures that went straight to her heart and threatened to burrow there until they bred into gestures of something grander. "Seriously. We've got to," she took a great big calming gulp of air, "stop. It's getting cold out here."  
  
"There are ways around that."  
  
She met his eyes and felt her resolve crumble again. They were dark blue and stormy, and she couldn't help but feel swept along for the ride. She had to find some way of effectively canceling this out. "I wonder," she shakily started, "If you always treat people who kill your family members so well?"  
  
His arms had been the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the ground. They dropped from around her and she staggered, trying to remember how to stand. Somehow, the look in his eyes now was something akin to pity and she felt her hackles rise in anticipation.  
  
He surprised her by softly answering, "Only the ones I have a fondness for. Then I can be certain of their innocence." Sark brushed back her wind-blown hair gently.  
  
Sydney watched him change again in front of her eyes and marveled. Who was this man that could be so dangerous and unassuming at the same time? How did he do it?  
  
Sark again reached for her hand and handed her up to her horse.  
  
The ride back to the house was silent.  
  
* * * 


	8. Part Eight

Deceive Part Eight  
  
When Sydney declined dinner again, Sark didn't push it. Instead, he personally led her to her room and made sure she was settled. She gave him the oddest of looks before saying goodnight and closing the door.  
  
Security cameras showed that she hadn't left her room--via windows or doors- -the entire night. Not that a person of her skill couldn't have found ways around that, but Sark was fairly certain that she was too shell-shocked to go anywhere.  
  
He took his breakfast early in the office, and gave the impression of waiting for her when she finally came down mid-morning. In actuality, she wasn't the only one thinking about last night. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around a father he'd never known and that Sydney had been the one to kill him.  
  
--Julia, that was.  
  
Julia, the same Julia he was engaged to.  
  
Talk about a snafu.  
  
Why on earth hadn't he done research before hashing out this insane plan? Why hadn't he paid more attention to the things he'd said to Simon?  
  
Sark looked up and took in Sydney's wet hair, white robe and rested face.  
  
Oh yeah. That was why.  
  
He cleared his throat. She looked up from the pattern she was tracing on the table.  
  
"Good morning," Sydney said softly, sipping at her mug of what he presumed to be coffee.  
  
Sark nodded minutely. "You slept well?"  
  
"Enough."  
  
"Good. Simon has moved up the timetable. The CIA may know where we're headed. We leave in an hour."  
  
She set her mug down and opened her mouth to protest but he was already walking away. She sighed heavily and finished her food in silence, then looked for somewhere to dump out her tea.  
  
Damn the man for not putting sinks in his kitchen.  
  
Sydney left her plate on the table and headed for her room. On the way she found an open window.  
  
She hurled the mug as far as she could.  
  
Enough was enough. She was switching back to coffee.  
  
The plane ride was silent. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep while Sark worked on his laptop.  
  
"Sydney," he began, promoting her to flinch slightly, "We're going to have to talk."  
  
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. She could do this. "Okay."  
  
"Simon is expecting... Julia. Are you ready to--"  
  
"My stuff is in the back."  
  
"You should probably--"  
  
So much for that talk. "Right."  
  
When she returned, his laptop was gone and he sat staring out the window. He didn't look as she sat down and folded her hands. It was only once they had landed did Sark tear his gaze away.  
  
Julia's transformation was complete.  
  
The long brown twisted and braided hair fell to her waist. She wore black tactical gear with a diagonally cut neckline.  
  
He looked amused at her thick sweater. "Will you be warm enough?"  
  
She'd spend the entire plane ride getting into her character. "Of course. I've got you, right baby?" she smirked, letting her eyes roam over him boldly.  
  
Sark worked very hard to keep his jaw from dropping open. She trailed her over his chest and cupped his cheek briefly. Inches away, she let him read the challenge issued in her eyes before spinning around and exiting the plane.  
  
He was staring after her, rooted to the spot.  
  
Why on earth had he thought that Julia would be easier to handle than Sydney?  
  
She was talking to Javier when he finally came out. The plane took off again almost immediately, leaving them stranded. That had been per his instructions--to give the impression of trusting Simon--or letting the other man think he was in charge. The truth of the matter was, whenever Sark worked, he was always the boss.  
  
This time wasn't any different.  
  
Speaking of Simon...  
  
Sark methodically scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There. Something had just flashed by the nearby transport. He drew out his gun and aimed carefully. Perfect shot. The tire blew out and the 4x4 sank like an elephant on bended knee.  
  
Sark wasn't concerned about the vehicle, though. He'd been watching for movement. Sure enough, Simon jumped out from behind, brushing off his suit.  
  
"What the bloody hell are you trying to do, mate?!"  
  
By now, everyone was watching. Sydney walked over to stand next to Sark, who was suddenly overcome with possessiveness and rested his hand on her hip. Somewhere between her 15-minute changing session he had taken the opportunity to change as well, and also wore a matching set of black gear. The effect was like a direct blow to the gut and Simon faltered for a moment, seeing them together.  
  
"I thought I saw some something shifty." His chin lifted defiantly as he stared the shorter man down. "I s'pose not. How fortunate that you have a spare."  
  
Simon looked mad enough to gun both of them down right there. "You're out of your sodding mind!"  
  
Sydney left his side and went to Simon, putting a hand on his arm to pacify him. "He's just fooling around, he didn't mean it." She glared back at Sark, who winked at her.  
  
"Sure," he snarled, throwing off her hand. "Whatever you say, Babe."  
  
"Simon," she quietly murmured, steel lacing her tone.  
  
He stopped and looked back at her. There were times like this, when things just didn't fit the profile of the Julia he'd known. Times when he'd been with her, and she seemed like another person altogether.  
  
Simon took a deep breath and smiled charmingly. "I don't know what you see in him, Babe," quiet enough that only they could hear, "he's a bit of a jerk, hmm?"  
  
Just another show of testosterone, rearing its ugly head. She smirked. "Maybe, but he's my arrogant jerk."  
  
He watched as she automatically sought out Sark from the crowd and blew him a kiss. The sunlight caught her ring and he noted with a hint of curiosity in his voice, "So I see you got a the ring, then."  
  
Sydney admired her left hand. "Nice, isn't it?"  
  
"If that's what you go for," he muttered.  
  
"It is," she replied, walking away.  
  
Sark obligingly received her into his arms and leaned down to whisper, "You're amazing."  
  
"Thanks," Sydney's eyes sparkled teasingly, a hint of her determined Bristow genes lurking in the back.  
  
Sark glanced over at Simon, who was watching them intently. He grinned at the other man and ducked his head to kiss her soundly.  
  
Still not used to his quicksilver moods, it took Sydney a moment to regroup. Then she dropped her fingers into the collar of his turtleneck and traced the skin there. He responded by trying to gain access to her mouth.  
  
Startled, her eyes flew open and she bit down on his tongue.  
  
Like he'd swallowed acid, Sark pulled back immediately. "You bit me!"  
  
"You tried to stick your tongue into my mouth!"  
  
She really did look amazing when she was all righteously indignant. He would have to get her this way more often. "Maybe Julia likes it," he spat at her.  
  
"Maybe I don't."  
  
Unable to help it, he suddenly started laughing. Eyes wide, Sydney couldn't help but stare. While she blinked in astonishment, Sark took the opportunity to once again settle his hand on her hip, his fingers skimming dangerously close to her breast.  
  
He leaned down. "I could really justify falling in love with you, Sydney Bristow."  
  
Her body stiffened in shock and the air went out of her in a big whoosh. She left him to get inside the Hummer.  
  
Simon ambled over as the rest of the team followed her. "What was that all about?"  
  
"I'm not quite certain. I only told her that her mother RSVP'd to the reception." Sark's eyes remained on the path she'd taken. "Honestly, she really is so hard to predict," he lied easily.  
  
He headed after her, leaving Simon alone on the tarmac.  
  
Something was going on with those two. And he was determined to find out.  
  
"The Covenant has determined that there are documents hidden by a fairly reliable source inside the caves. The last transmission indicates the more south west cavern--which I believe you are both familiar with--and it should be the usual smash and grab job. Once you're in, we'll be radio silent as the frequency could badly disturb the ice, and send it crashing down on you."  
  
Simon paused in his speech to glance at the two. Even though space was at a premium, the rest of his team had chosen to squeeze in on the other side of the aircraft. Then there were Sark and Julia. They were seated next to each other, pressed together closely from the shoulder to the ankle. He imagined it wasn't all that uncomfortable, and then saw the threat in Sark's eyes.  
  
Hiding a smile behind a hand, Simon coughed and returned to the plans. "We'll drop you off here, and regroup to pick you up further down the line. It looks to be small window of 10 minutes, but I'm sure you can accomplish it."  
  
Sydney kept her eyes trained on the plans that were resting on her lap while Sark got up to talk to Simon.  
  
"Is there anything else we should know?"  
  
He appeared to be considering the matter. "Not really." Simon shrugged and glanced over where Sydney was still prepping. He stepped away and moved towards the cockpit, muttering under his breath, "Nothing you can't figure out, anyway."  
  
Sark's eyes narrowed after him. He just barely missed being flattened against the wall as the rest of the team unexpectedly moved into another compartment of the airliner. That was strange. Something was up.  
  
Simon waltzed back in just as he was about to get Sydney's attention. "You two seem to be very comfortable with the mission. Why don't you give me those plans, babe," he all but snatched them out of Sydney's hands.  
  
She set her jaw with a small fire banked in her eyes and stood up. "C'mon, Simon. I wasn't done with those yet."  
  
"Yes, I think you are."  
  
Sydney opened her mouth again to speak and saw Sark twitching oddly. She gave him a disbelieving look. Simon had just taken away her intel and all he could do was stand there and... wait a minute. He wasn't twitching, he was--  
  
"Have a nice trip, Babe!"  
  
And quite suddenly, she wasn't worrying about Sark or where he was standing, or what he was doing. She wasn't worried about that at all.  
  
Because the floor had just disappeared.  
  
She felt him latch onto her as they fell faster to the frozen tundra. While her mind was working overtime on a safe landing, how unbelievably cold it was at that moment, and just what the hell Simon was up to, it didn't fail to escape her when he managed to get his other arm around her and lower his mouth to her ear.  
  
"I was telling you to get the bloody parachute, woman!"  
  
"Well, how was I supposed to know that?! It looked like you had developed this hideous tic to your left eye!"  
  
And they were still falling. Fast, and hard, and their landing was sure to be uncomfortable. He struggled to enclose her even further and tugged her directly against the line of his body. "We do it this way and lessen the impact."  
  
She didn't have time to argue because the white jumped up to meet them.  
  
The next time she opened her eyes, the world was upside-down.  
  
"Oh god. Sark. Sark," she reached around for him and was met with nothing. Why was the ground moving? "Oh my god, I think I'm paralyzed. Or dead."  
  
A dry chuckle informed her that she was very much alive. "I doubt that. By some odd twist of fate, we managed to land on a rather high snowdrift. It broke our fall, as I suspected, and we merely rolled to safety. I think you're all right, except for a possible minor concussion. But you've already gone to sleep, so I guess the brain damage is eminent."  
  
She still couldn't see him, but swung a fist through the air. 'Where the hell was he?! And why the hell was everything upside-down?!'  
  
Judging from his responding snicker, she'd said that last part out loud.  
  
"Sydney, be a dear and look down. As far as you can."  
  
More white. White and ice and the same old--wait. That was black. Black didn't exist in the caves. Not here. In fact, the only two black things here should be herself and--"Put me down!!"  
  
No wonder it felt so familiar.  
  
Sark smirked to himself. "I very much doubt that would be a wise idea. If you are suffering from a concussion, your sense of direction is severely impaired and I'd bet quite a bit of money that you probably can't even walk in a straight line."  
  
"Put. Me. Down."  
  
"No, I don't think I will."  
  
She lifted her leg, preparing to kick him. His free hand came up and rested on the small of her back. It was strangely intimate and shocked her from further action.  
  
"We've been through this already, you know. I almost feel as if we're stuck in a very bad story with no way out. You'd think there would be more originality than the recycling of the same ideas..." He tsked to himself.  
  
Sydney shook her head in incredulity and abruptly wished she hadn't. It pounded with an ache that reminded her of the time she'd went through a tequila phase with Francie and--that made her head hurt even more, so she just stopped thinking.  
  
Sark stopped and her head whip-lashed with the sudden movement.  
  
"Ow."  
  
He rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn't see. "Excuse me, darling, for not taking more precautions to see to it that you are not in any pain whatsoever. Being the heroic fiancé that I am, taking the brunt of our fall, and carrying your not-quite lightweight--though decidedly gorgeous--self around the freezing expanse of these damned caves; I must have forgotten that you would be in a lot of pain with any unexpected stops. I guess we should have gone through that hole in the ice, after all. At least you would be weightless then."  
  
Sydney half-heartedly pinched him on the butt, and rolled when he dropped her in shock. She scrambled off the ice and pulled herself up. "God, it's cold."  
  
Sark looked at her with amusement. "Thank you, Agent Obvious." Before she could so much as open her mouth to reply, he ran a light hand over her face, pausing above her right cheekbone. It stung, and she hissed in pain. "You've a couple of small cuts," his gaze traveled clinically over the rest of her, "but if you're feeling well enough, we should keep moving."  
  
His assessment bothered her. Determined not to let it show, she tilted her chin up at him and ignored the waves of pain to reply, "Lead the way."  
  
They'd barely gotten two steps when she collapsed on the ice.  
  
Sark looked heavenward and leaned down to scoop her up. She rested comfortably in his arms with her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Don't you dare say 'I told you so'," she warned, pouting.  
  
He brushed his lips to her temple, unable to hide his amusement when she shivered. "I wouldn't dream of it."  
  
They found the site easily after that. Almost too easily. It was a near mirror position of where they'd met before at--no, screw that. It wasn't a mirror image. Because it was the site where they'd been.  
  
"Sark," she hesitantly began, automatically looking to the spot where she'd fallen below the ice before Dixon had pulled her out. Across from them was the hallway he'd stepped out, ready to take her down to get the music box.  
  
Gently, like a man in a trance, he set her down and walked over. Nearly three years later, and there were still marks from where he'd fired wildly, aiming for nothing after she'd thrown the ice pick in his leg. Sark swallowed back the bile in his mouth and turned back to her.  
  
She was also staring, but now at the small platform where the box had been. Instead of the sheaf of papers they'd been sent to retrieve was empty space. There was nothing here.  
  
"Do you think we took a wrong turn?" he asked against his better judgment.  
  
If it wouldn't have sent her into a bad case of the dry heaves, Sydney would have firmly shaken her head. "No. You don't make mistakes like that, Sark and I--" her voice faltered as she remembered what had transpired on the aircraft before they'd been thrown into thin air, remembered that vicious gleam in Simon's eye, "I studied those plans for a long time. At least long enough to know where we had to be even if I am concussed."  
  
He noted that she wasn't even aware of admitting more than the perfunctory details about his work habits and smiled. So he was breaching those defenses. And here he thought Michael Vaughn had left him with a whole fortress to scale.  
  
"Why are you smiling like that when there's a very real possibility that we could be stuck in here forever?"  
  
"I have no intention of getting stuck in here. Frankly, there are too many memories attached and I, for one, am in no real hurry to create new ones in their place."  
  
She snorted, simultaneously lifting a hand to her head in pain. "And they said it would never happen." When he raised a brow in response, she added, "You, my partner in freezing-cold crime, have just turned nostalgic on me."  
  
The look of revulsion and disgust on his face had her grinning. "Don't do that. It's not a joking matter. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."  
  
"Mmm hmm," Sydney murmured noncommittally, bracing a hand against the wall as she began to move slowly. Thank god for gloves. She'd forgotten just how cold it was here. After a few moments, even she couldn't hide just how cold she was. At least last time she'd had a snow parka on.  
  
Sark, who was watching this from a safe distance away, sighed in defeat. She looked pitiful. "Sydney, come here."  
  
"No."  
  
He got up and put his hands on her shoulders. "Come on. We've got to conserve body heat and all that."  
  
Sark sat back down and tugged her onto his lap. He noticed her grin. While tucking her gloves into her sleeves and making sure her boots were properly secured, he asked, "And what is so funny?"  
  
"'And all that'," she quoted, unable to stifle a few giggles at his expense. He rolled his eyes exasperatedly, and moved until she could rest her head on his shoulder. When they got out of this, he would definitely be checking for brain damage and hypothermia, among other things.  
  
"No sleeping. If you close your eyes, I will have to think of ways to keep you awake that don't involve icicles down the front of your shirt."  
  
Sydney stiffened in outrage. "You wouldn't."  
  
"I'd do whatever it took to keep you alive."  
  
She got up again and started to pace. Well, she really wobbled more than anything because she still wasn't quite steady on her feet, but it was the intention of pacing that counted.  
  
"How long do you think we're here for, anyway?"  
  
He let his eyes shut. "Not very long. Simon's done this for a reason, though I'm not yet certain if it was a very primitive attempt to teach us a lesson, or something else."  
  
"Hey."  
  
When he opened his eyes, her face was less than two inches away. "Don't go to sleep."  
  
Sark closed his eyes again. "Empty threats don't frighten me."  
  
"--Or I'll have to shove ice down your pants."  
  
Sark's eyes flew open and he met her smirk with a slight one of his own. "Touché."  
  
By now she was crouched at the base of the stand in the center of the cave, scrutinizing it carefully.  
  
"Sydney, what are you doing?"  
  
She gestured for him to be quiet as she removed her left glove and traced the faint etchings in the ice. "Sark, I think you'd better take a look at this."  
  
"I'm really quite comfortable here."  
  
Sydney glared at him.  
  
Making a big production of it, he slowly ambled over. "If I wasn't so tired, I would not be doing this."  
  
"Shh." She grabbed his still-gloved hand and guided him to the engraving. "Do you feel that?"  
  
Frowning, he leaned down closer. 0 . Sark resisted the urge to thunk his head against the stand. "Unbelievable. You must be a Rambaldi magnet."  
  
"Thanks a lot," she sarcastically replied. "In case you missed the memo, I'm not so fond of the guy, either."  
  
Sark stopped looking at the ice and preferred instead the sight of Sydney's eyes. "No. I don't suppose you are."  
  
Unnerved again at his mood change, she stood up and placed her hand on the ice for support. "Cold," she hissed, jerking her hand away.  
  
"May I remind you that you're the one who took the glove off?"  
  
She smiled sweetly at him, both of them knowing she was picturing him undergoing some obscure form of torture. "You just did."  
  
"I see Agent Obvious has not yet left our presence."  
  
"Get a grip, Sark." She pushed away from the ice and started walking around.  
  
He counted exactly a minute and eight seconds before she started speaking again; this time with gestures.  
  
"I just don't get it. If our cover's blown, then why not just kill us? Why stick us in the middle of Siberia with no way out? Why--"  
  
Sark only had a split second when he saw the glow emanate from the ring. "Sydney, don't!"  
  
She stopped in mid-rant, but he moved quicker and had tackled them both to the cold floor before his battered body and her concussed head could complain.  
  
Two seconds later, the ice shattered where she'd been standing to reveal cold, murky water.  
  
"What the hell..." Sydney breathed, looking from the ice, to Sark, and then finally at her ring, where the glow was just fading.  
  
Sark opened his mouth to answer her but he never got a chance, as the ice at their backs abruptly exploded.  
  
If Sydney's character seems a little off to you, remember. She's slipping in and out of her alias (Julia, in this case). 


	9. Part Nine

DECEIVE PART NINE  
  
A/N: Okay. Let's see how this pans out. Last time we left, there were explosions everywhere. Now we'll see what happens. For those few of you who have read 'Moonlight,' you'll note the scene below.  
  
When the ice finally stopped falling and the cave stopped shaking, Sydney decided it would be okay to chance breathing.  
  
"Ow."  
  
She opened her eyes to see Sark staring up at her. "Oh. Hi."  
  
His brows lifted. "Do you mind?"  
  
Sydney looked confused.  
  
"It appears that you've pinned me to the ground. It's rather cold, and every breath you take presses my uncomfortably into the ice, so if it wouldn't terribly inconvenience you..."  
  
She scrambled off him before he could finish speaking and held out her hand to help him up.  
  
Once they steadied themselves on the ice, Sydney gripped Sark's arm tightly. "What the hell just happened?"  
  
He began to speak and froze, looking beyond Sydney. Surprisingly, he hadn't lost his gun in the shuffle and aimed it at the ice wall.  
  
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice chided from inside the cave.  
  
They looked across the destruction, past the gaping hole that revealed freezing cold waters, over to the far side of the cave. Simon stood, cradling an Uzi in his arms. "I hate to break up the love-fest, but if you tear down that wall, we'll all turn into popsicles."  
  
They watched as he walked to the far edge of the ice, carefully avoiding the weak spots. "What I'd like to know is how you caused all of this. I wasn't aware you could carve out a lake with your handguns in the middle of Siberia."  
  
"You and me both," Sydney muttered darkly, looking at the destruction they'd caused.  
  
Sark slid an arm around her waist and reached under her sweater to pinch her skin warningly. She jumped ever so slightly and gritted her teeth.  
  
"It was partially in shambles when we arrived," Sark answered, "and then you came in and tried to take us out."  
  
"Now, why would I want to do that?" Simon wondered, making a big deal of thinking out loud.  
  
Before Sark could reply, Sydney quietly asked, "Why did you drop us from the plane?"  
  
Immediately, Simon turned to her, looking contrite. She looked so small and unsure of herself--this wasn't like the Julia he knew. It wasn't like the other facets of her he'd previously categorized, either. This was someone entirely new and she looked far too vulnerable for his liking. "That was just a communication mix-up, babe. Total mistake. I had to verify that you were with the team a hundred percent. And look, you made it okay, you're not hurt or anything."  
  
"She has a mild concussion," Sark supplied, looking mildly furious.  
  
The other man blanched. "I swear, I had no idea. Honestly, we were just testing the waters, so to speak."  
  
Sark pulled her protectively closer to his side. "Perhaps it would be better to test them elsewhere."  
  
It was a threat and one Simon seemed to recognize. "Well, here's what we'll do, then. You meet us back at the surface and we'll go to my villa in Italy. See if we can't clear things up, eh?" Confidant that his plan was going to be followed, he headed for the exit on his side of the cave.  
  
"Simon," Sydney called after him. He stopped, but didn't turn back, which she thought was rather dangerous considering that Sark was behind him. "Did we get the papers?"  
  
"Sure. The team got them. They were in the next chamber over. You must've taken a wrong turn somewhere, that's all."  
  
Without waiting for a reply, he walked off and left them in the cave.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Sydney hissed, flinging Sark's arm away from her.  
  
Absently, he placed it back around her shoulders, walking them to the entrance he himself had walked through not so very long ago. "I'm not entirely convinced Simon believes we're being straight with him."  
  
"I know that," she snapped, swatting at her long, icicle-encrusted hair. "I was talking about this." She held out her left hand and stared pointedly at the still faintly glowing stone in the middle.  
  
"Ah."  
  
" 'Ah'? That's it? Just--'Ah'?"  
  
Sark shrugged, leading them past a particularly nasty looking stalagmite patch. "I can't tell you."  
  
She blinked. "You can't--" Sydney stopped in her tracks. Counted to ten. Tried to remember to breathe. Sark watched her with amusement in his eyes.  
  
"C'mon. Let's get out of here." She grabbed his hand and started dragging him along. "I'm getting claustrophobic."  
  
He squeezed her hand reassuringly and swiftly turned them in the other direction. "We'd better head toward the exit, then."  
  
The ride to the chopper was silent. Sydney was exhausted from trying to figure things out; she didn't understand Simon's behavior and she sure as hell couldn't make out Sark's intentions. After being dropped from a plane, crash-landing without a parachute, suffering a concussion, probably a mild case of hypothermia, not to mention, surviving the ice caves a second time; she was just beat.  
  
So she found it very simple to slip back in the role of Sark's fiancée, enough to let her guard down to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm remained where it had been all along--around her waist, keeping her anchored to his side.  
  
She discovered she didn't dislike it in the least, and decided to let it stay there. She closed her eyes and thought of warm places with blue-green water.  
  
Five minutes later, when she fell asleep, Sark could breathe a lot easier. He knew for certain he could think easier.  
  
And knew he had a lot of explaining to do.  
  
They left the chopper and rode inside an armored transport to the airstrip, where they boarded a private jet.  
  
Because Sydney slept through the entire transition, Sark carried her from one transport to the next. He wasn't much better off than her, suffering bruises and probably a few sprains, but when Simon would have offered to relieve him, the glare he received in return was enough to make him back off. The man was fiercely protective of her and it showed.  
  
It remained this way until they walked into the open, sunny space of the villa's front hall. If Sark hadn't been so preoccupied with his thoughts and Sydney's safety, he probably would have taken a moment to admire the roomy layout and exquisite architecture. The place really was a work of art and even if he believed Simon to be a "two-bit" thief, the man certainly knew how to live.  
  
Sydney stirred then, and rubbed at her eyes. She looked young, tired and incredibly vulnerable, and the knowledge that filled him was dangerous.  
  
Still, he was the picture of tranquility as he brushed his lips over her forehead and murmured, "Go back to sleep." Like an obedient small child, she closed her eyes and leaned her head into his neck.  
  
Simon glanced back at him in askance.  
  
"Would you be so kind as to show me our room? I'd like to check her over for injuries."  
  
"I can send for a doctor if you really believe--"  
  
"That won't be necessary," he curtly replied. "Our room... please." He'd tacked that onto the end and stared steadily at Simon.  
  
"Right." He started up the stairs. After a moment, Sark followed.  
  
The rest of the team had dispersed by this point, leaving the two men alone as they made their way down the wide hallways. Simon opened the door at the end of the hall to reveal an open walkway, set inside a large courtyard. They walked along the perimeter of the second floor until they met another door at the end.  
  
Simon opened it and stepped aside to let Sark pass. "You'll find the guest house beyond those stairs. I'll have food sent later."  
  
Sark barely nodded, brushing by the shorter man with a dismissive air.  
  
Simon watched until he was out of sight. Then he turned around and went back to the main house to think.  
  
After giving the room a cursory bug check, Sark returned his attention to Sydney. She was lying on the bed, curled up on her side. For all the time they'd spent together in the past two weeks or so, he'd never seen her sleep. Even on the plane, she had been unconsciously fighting the drugged wine, and slept fitfully. It was a sight to behold.  
  
She looked a completely different person. You would never know by looking at her now that she was capable of murder and mayhem and all things honorable in between. That she was proficient in over two dozen languages, skilled in six forms of martial arts, and probably able to kill a man with her bare hands, if she so chose to.  
  
But the amazing thing was, even though she had this wealth of knowledge, even though she was an insanely strong woman--she'd lost two years of her life and returned to find it completely turned upside-down. Sark wondered if they would be in their strange partnership right now if her life had progressed normally.  
  
He really didn't want to think about that.  
  
The fact was, she was with him now and they were going to take down the Covenant if it took them forever. They were also going to get information on what had happened when she was Julia Thorne. And by god, he was going to plug a few bullets into Simon Walker before it was over.  
  
If she ever woke up, that was.  
  
Sark swallowed his impatience and sat down on the bed beside her. He could wake her up; probably should, if she had a concussion. Except she was really quite tired and he was too. The day had been far too long and all he wanted was to close his eyes and get some rest.  
  
Just for a little bit.  
  
The next time Sark woke, it was dark outside. It was very dark, judging from the moonlight that filtered in through the windows and French doors that led to the balcony. Those doors were now open, and the space next to him was empty--which meant Sydney was awake and thinking.  
  
A thinking Sydney was always a dangerous thing to deal with. He carefully made his way outside and leaned against the doorframe, drinking the sight of her in.  
  
She braced her arms on the railing and looked over the side. The silvery light painted her platinum and she all but shimmered on her own. Hearing him approach, she turned her back on her moment and met his eyes squarely.  
  
"I didn't want to wake you--" her words were swallowed fast because he was at her side, drawing her close again and kissing her tenderly.  
  
When they pulled away, she felt a chill come between them and she shivered.  
  
"Cold?"  
  
Sydney shook her head mutely.  
  
"Let's go back to bed. We're going to need our rest to get through the next few days."  
  
She was looking up at him with a quest in her eyes. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
Sark shrugged. He was silent for so long, she didn't think he would answer. Finally, he said, "There are cameras in the room. We'll need to choose our actions wisely."  
  
For some reason, it stung that he could be so blasé about whatever was happening between them. But if that was the way he wanted it, then fine.  
  
Two could play that game.  
  
She grinned mischievously at him and pulled him in for a smacking kiss. "That's fine, darling. Just let me know when the gig's up."  
  
The veiled threat stood between them like a chasm.  
  
Sydney had thrown down the gauntlet and shown that she was more than willing to play this game if that was what it took to get the answers she needed. The sparkle in her eye was partly playful, but it also hinted at what she would do if he held information from her for much longer.  
  
Sark reached blindly for her hand and drew her back inside.  
  
The bed was cool and inviting. They fell asleep quickly.  
  
The next morning, Sydney felt something tugging at her finger. She ignored it and rolled over, tucking the arm underneath her. Right now, she was all about the cozy feeling of contentment and leaving those unsettling feelings from yesterday behind her. Today was a new day. She was committed to making sure it stayed that way.  
  
Sark leaned delicately over her, his hand still attached to hers. Currently, he was struggling not to collapse on top of her or depress the bed in any movement that would wake her further.  
  
But the fact of the matter was -- he needed that ring.  
  
He sucked in his breath and slowly moved his hand from where it was intertwined with hers. She curled her hand into a fist. Sark cringed and tried to extricate himself from the bed gently. He would have to go around the other side.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity, Sark had safely gotten free and was attempting to pluck the ring from where her hand rested underneath her stomach. He tilted his head sideways as if trying to attempt "speaking" to the ring by at least communicating on the same level.  
  
That was when Sydney woke up.  
  
"Hi," she said, biting back the monster grin that threatened to take over her face. "Can I help you?"  
  
"How long have you been awake?" Sark crossly demanded, finally giving into muscle fatigue and sitting on the bed next to her.  
  
"Since you started tugging at my finger." Her brows rose in a mocking gesture that was all too familiar. "Something you need to tell me? You have a secret finger fetish, maybe?"  
  
He glared at her. "Might I perhaps borrow your ring?"  
  
"And here I thought you were giving to me for keeps."  
  
She watched him as he fought to hang onto his temper. This was fun.  
  
"I promise to give it back."  
  
Sydney looked out the window, pretending to be interested in the Italian countryside. "And why should your promises mean anything to me?" So much for letting things go.  
  
The look on his face became shuttered.  
  
When he didn't respond, she turned to him for an explanation. "Well?"  
  
"Why, indeed," Sark muttered quietly, leaning back into the pillows and closing his eyes.  
  
She had either gone too far or... he was pouting.  
  
Sydney stole a glance at his lower lip. Yeah. It was sticking out the tiniest bit.  
  
"You... baby."  
  
"I'm not even going to pretend I know what you're rambling about."  
  
She grinned, leaning over him precariously. The tips of her hair swung at his face and he batted them away. "You're such a baby. I won't give you the ring so now you're pouting. Amazing. You were an only child, weren't you?"  
  
This was too much.  
  
Sark's eyes flew open and he rolled over, pinning her to the bed beneath him. "And if I was?"  
  
She giggled, tracing his lower lip playfully. "Baby."  
  
He growled and scrubbed a hand over face. "You're an only child as well. I fail to see how you can exclude yourself in this examination."  
  
"Simple. I was really good friends with the next-door neighbors. I can share."  
  
Sark settled comfortably, not minding in the least that he was on top of her. "Really?"  
  
"Yep," she said smugly.  
  
He cocked his head to side. "Then why won't you let me borrow your ring?"  
  
Her jaw dropped open. "That wasn't fair."  
  
"Nice comeback."  
  
While she was engaged in coming up with a better response, Sark busied himself by twisting the ring off her finger.  
  
He grasped it between his fingers triumphantly and walked over to the desk. There was a small tray beside his laptop and he placed the ring on top of it. "Close your eyes," he calmly instructed.  
  
"Wha--" was all Sydney got out before a brilliant white light flared in the room.  
  
She blinked dazedly, feeling her way along the wall to where Sark was busily typing away. She sat in the chair next to his and tried to focus but the white spots in front of her eyes made things a bit difficult.  
  
"You know," she began, rubbing at her eyes, "We've really got to talk about that."  
  
"What's that?" He continued typing furiously, bypassing two firewalls effortlessly and punching through another security level.  
  
Sydney squinted and tried to make sense of the screen. "What's that?" She asked, unconsciously echoing his words.  
  
"Simon's a bit... paranoid. He's taken quite an extreme approach to his security configurations."  
  
She watched quietly as he worked through two more layers of heaving coding and stared at him for a moment. "You're really something, aren't you, Sark?"  
  
Startled, he lost his rhythm and nearly missed another set of commands. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
She kept the grin to herself and watched as his hands flew over the keyboard.  
  
Eventually, a blue screen came up. Sark opened the email program and typed a brief message. 'Could Alexander have misinterpreted the project assessment? Not interested as of now.' He paused momentarily, and gave her the chance to read what was on the screen.  
  
Sydney frowned. "All that to send an email? To who?" It was a code, that much she knew. She just didn't know what it meant.  
  
Sark typed in a few more things that too fast for her eyes to track and sent the email. He closed down the program and backed out of the security. Then he handed her back the ring, which she fitted on distractedly, still watching him.  
  
Sark walked over to the bureau, where he found clothes for both of them. Sydney followed, hot on his heels. "Are you going to tell me who you sent that to? Or is this a new development to our partnership? Because let me tell you, I'm getting awfully tired of asking you quest--"  
  
He put his hand over her mouth and silenced her further protestations with a look. "I sent the email to an associate of mine. That," he made a random trail of kisses along her shoulder line, "Is all you need to know."  
  
Even though Sydney knew he was putting on a performance for the cameras that were surely in the room, even though it seemed like Sark was obsessed with her neck-line, she couldn't get past the fact that he was hiding something from her.  
  
Something huge.  
  
She stepped back to let him see the warning in her eyes and suddenly threw them both off balance. They fumbled their way to the bed. When her hair was curtaining them both from inquisitive eyes, she leaned down close and whispered, "You had better tell me what's going on--with everything--or I will make this trip as painful as possible." Her knee edged dangerously close to him as she fought for purchase on the bed.  
  
Sark was only too eager to flip her over. "That goes both ways, Sydney."  
  
He caught her mouth in a desperate kiss and refused to allow her a reply.  
  
When they paused to gasp for breath, Sark moved to whisper in her ear. "I sent the email to you mother."  
  
He had just enough time to slide clear of the bed.  
  
Jack Bristow was settling in for the night when the phone rang. He wearily reached to turn the light back on.  
  
"Don't move."  
  
The voice was quiet but lacked none of the threat its owner possessed.  
  
He smiled to himself and turned the light on anyway.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
Irina stood in the doorway, half undressed. He folded his arms and watched her appraisingly. "Did you think I wouldn't want to watch?"  
  
She paused with her hand on one hip. And with her pants and shirt gone, it was quite an image.  
  
"I asked you nicely."  
  
"Since when have I ever... done what you've asked?"  
  
Irina left the clothes piled on the floor and crawled into the bed. "Do you really need me to remind you?"  
  
Try as he might, the smile refused to leave his face. "You know this is dangerous."  
  
"We like dangerous."  
  
He considered. "Yes, but--"  
  
Irina drew the covers to her chin and closed her eyes. He stopped mid- sentence and obligingly turned out the light.  
  
The silence had settled over them comfortably when she chose to speak. "I thought it best to bring you this news in person." The arm around her waist tightened suddenly. She laughed and laid her hand atop his. "Don't worry, she's safe."  
  
Even though she was his wife, even though there were issues between them-- both unresolved and those that had been put to rest--he still had trouble with letting her see how much Sydney's welfare affected him. It was foolish, he knew, for no one loved their daughter more than they did, but there were times...  
  
Jack mentally shook the thought aside. "Are you... positive?"  
  
She stiffened, insulted. "Are saying my sources are untruthful?"  
  
"Merely verifying," he soothed, running a hand down the length of her long hair.  
  
Irina almost sniffed in disdain. "She's with one of my best agents. In Italy. The region of Campania."  
  
"I thought you were working on covering a false lead for Sydney?"  
  
"I was," she turned in his arms to face him, "But that doesn't mean I can't... multi-task."  
  
His lips curved beneath hers. "And what else did you find?"  
  
She paused. "Jack, my flat outside of Paris has been used. Items in the safe... have been taken."  
  
Jack turned the light back on, ignoring the way it burned their eyes. "What are you telling me, Irina? This is not the time to play games."  
  
"Don't you think I know that?!" Irina threw her hand down against the mattress in irritation. "I'm telling you this because I didn't think you'd respond well if it were another one of those stupid internet conversations. I abhor them. They lack any feeling whatsoever."  
  
"What are you trying to hide from me?" His pronunciation was clipped and left no question to how he was feeling.  
  
"Nothing." Jack watched his wife roll out of bed and gather her clothes. "This was a bad idea. I should have just followed protocol," she sneered.  
  
Jack waited until she had turned her back to move. Before she knew what had happened, he had her arms pinned and she was wrapped in an ironic sort of lover's embrace.  
  
"Tell me what you came here to say."  
  
She lashed out with strength and twisted in his arms to look him in the eyes. "I'm telling you who she's with, you idiot! The only person who has the code to the flat is Sark!"  
  



	10. Part Ten

DECEIVE PART TEN

A/N: So there I was, sitting at the beach, minding my own business when all of the sudden, Syd taps me on the shoulder. Ah, Syd-Julia, I should say. "Did you forget us?" And I'm all, "Dude, are you from England or something, because there's only one of y--" and that's when Sark stood in front of me menacingly. In swimming trunks. Shirtless. So yeah, I decided it would be best all around to suck it up and write. Whoo boy, what a hardship. …Mmm. Naked Sark. Tsk. The things I do for you guys.

12.13.04: Sorry, guys. Thought I had uploaded this already.

Jack stood silent for several moments to allow her statement to sink in. "I am curious, Irina, as to why you're not more concerned about Sydney's welfare."

Irina regarded him silently. "He is my best agent," she said simply, her shoulders moving unapologetically.

"And she is my daughter!" He yelled, losing his patience.

Jack saw the hand and had time to register it before it connected with his face. He stumbled back once from the force of it but would not give her the satisfaction of letting her know how much it had hurt.

"She is our daughter," Irina reminded him quietly, as if their joint outburst had never happened. "Of course I am worried about her. But they are safe and smart. Sark will notify me if that changes."

"How?" He ground out.

A faint smile played at her lips. "The same way he told me where they were in the first place, Jack."

Because she knew he would not be satisfied with her answer, she pulled out a piece of paper.

'Could Alexander have misinterpreted the project assessment? Not interested as of now.'

End Result: Campania.

He looked down at the now familiar handwriting of his wife and bit back an oath. "What could they possibly be doing there?"

Sydney closed her eyes and smiled contentedly.

Sark glared at her from his seat on the balcony ledge. "I don't know why you're so happy about this."

She shaded a hand over her eyes and grinned lazily. "I won the bet, Sark. Now you have to sit there for the next 15 minutes. And no pouting, either." He drew in his lower lip with a slurp. She laughed.

"Still," he let his leg drape over the side of the three-story house and swing restlessly. "It was a stupid bet to begin with."

"Then why'd you take it?"

"To shut you up," He mumbled, closing his eyes to lean his head back against the warm concrete.

Sydney lifted her head and sat up with her elbows supporting her. Sark was resting on the wide ledge of their balcony wearing nothing but his boxers. Even though he professed to be extremely put out, she saw the way he leaned almost bonelessly on the building, as if the stress had seeped out of him. He was breathing more slowly and she was willing to bet that if she left him alone for the next few minutes, he'd fall asleep.

"Why are you staring at me?"

She told herself that he'd only startled her because she'd thought he was sleeping. "I wasn't staring."

His eyebrow lifted.

She sat up. "I wasn't!"

"Tell you what, darling. How about you come up here," eyes still closed, he patted the space between his legs, "and then we'll have a nice long discussion about how exactly I knew that you were practically devouring me with your eyes."

Sydney let out an outraged yelp. "You are so full of yourself, it's not even funny."

Sark tipped his head back to the sun and let his face absorb the warmth. "Don't you have any better comebacks? You've been living with me for nearly a week and half now."

Perhaps it was the way the sun fell on her or maybe it was just a trick of the light, but if Sark had been watching, he would have seen the dark gleam in Sydney's eyes. As it was, he was still drinking in the sunlight and so he was unprepared when she suddenly stopped speaking.

"Sydney?" He called softly, mindful of the cameras inside. No answer. Frowning, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. "Sydney?"

Nothing.

Sark sighed heavily and resumed his earlier position, while mumbling, "Probably off plotting my doom."

"Hey, Sark."

Good. She was back. "What?"

splat

Something cold and wet had just flown at his bare chest. He jumped up and landed in a crouch. "Sydney!"

She leaned against the doorway, twirling her hair innocently. "Yes?"

Sark plucked the soaked washcloth from his body as if it were an offending object. "Why," he began calmly, "would you disturb my rest with a--sorry excuse for a water balloon?"

"You looked hot."

As soon as the words left her mouth, it was all she could do not to close her eyes in embarrassment. Sydney raised her eyes to see how her statement had settled with him, but now he was the one who'd disappeared. She let out a short sigh of relief.

"Is that so?"

Sark enjoyed the way she jumped several feet in the air. It made it easier for him to trap her in his arms. "Ah, Sydney. You should have known better than to mess with me."

She blinked twice. Then she burst out laughing.

He looked mildly affronted. "And what, may I ask, is so humorous?"

By this point, Sydney was laughing so hard that she couldn't even stand straight. He was holding her upright as she managed, "You… mess… with me…" A few more giggles leaked out before she composed herself enough to say, "Honestly, Sark, you've been living with me for nearly a week and a half now and that's the best you could do?"

Sark let go of her and folded his arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She let one side of her lip curl up. "Your comebacks. . ." Sydney leaned in close, whispering seductively in his ear, ". . .suck." Before he could react, she tore out of the room in a dead sprint.

Sark grabbed a shirt and ran after her.

Jack glared silently out the window.

Irina looked up from her papers. "If you stare any harder, the glass will melt."

"At least then the cabin would depressurize and we wouldn't be going to France." As an after thought he added, "I don't like the French. They have too many children who reek of. . . cheerfulness." If it were possible, she would have sworn he actually shuddered.

"Jack!"

He stopped brooding long enough to look at her.

Irina had perched her reading glasses on the end of her nose. She'd pulled her hair back earlier in a loose bun and had a black stripe on her cheek from where she'd gotten too close with her pen.

She looked amazing.

He imagined that if their life had been different, if he had been just Jack Bristow and she had been just Laura, his wife…

"I know what you're thinking."

His eyes found hers again. "Do you?"

Irina took off her glasses and capped the pen, setting it down gently. "Don't." She got up and took the seat next to him. "We wouldn't be here right now if things had turned out differently."

Jack let her take his hand and lace their fingers together. "I believe that is my point."

She studied at his profile quietly and made a decision. And suddenly, Jack Bristow had a lapful of Irina Derevko.

She smiled at him mysteriously. "Glad you're here now?"

He ran his fingers in her hair until the bun came loose. "I think," a small smile gathered at the corner of his lips, "I'll manage."

Irina laughed and felt his smile widen against her lips.

Simon was halfway through his lunch when he heard them. Well, it wasn't so much a them as an it, which echoed loudly in the hallways and shook the walls.

"Have got to stop waking before lunch," he mumbled, pushing back his chair to see what was going on.

He'd barely made it to the next room when a knife flew past his ear to embed in the wall behind him. "Hey!" Simon ducked as two more flew to join it. "What's the meaning of--" His eyes widened and he dropped while a ceramic urn shattered where he'd been standing.

"What is going on up there?!" He shouted, dodging more broken glass and antiques.

Julia danced down the stairs nimbly, dodging around him and the crushed glass that littered the floor. "He woke up cranky." She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

There was a silent pause throughout the villa, and then --

"I did not wake up 'cranky'!" Sark's irritated voice floated down the stairwell, sounding nearer with each word. "I suppose I was unaware that certain people like to force other people to parade about in their underwear for the duration of the morning," he exited the last of the steps and eyed Julia from where she stood behind Simon.

Simon turned his neck around far enough to see that sure enough, Julia was clad only in a tank top and what looked like boxer shorts. He'd never seen her in men's underwear before. "Good look on you, Babe."

She beamed at him. "Thanks. I bet Sark that his boxers would look better on me and he lost. He's still pouting about it."

Simon's gaze slid to Sark, who had, by this point, the presence of mind to make use of the clothing in their suite. Sark, however, was also in a pair of boxers and a blue oxford shirt, which he'd left carelessly unbuttoned.

"Is he, now?" He feigned extreme interest in examining both of them. "I don't know, Julia. That shirt really brings out the color in his--" Only a cold look from the man himself effectively ended that statement.

Julia pushed the hair away from her face and smiled, walking over to Sark. "All better, now, Pookie?"

His eyes flashed once in warning. She yelped and headed for the gardens. Sark shot Simon a final look before going after her.

Simon rubbed at his head distractedly, wondering what had just happened. Someone cleared their throat. It had to be one of the blokes on the team.

Javier stood with a glass of orange juice. "Uh, what was that? Aren't they supposed to be our prisoners?"

"Not prisoners, mate. More like… bargaining chips."

"Okay. Why are the 'bargaining chips' chasing each other around the place?" Despite himself, Javier winced at the loud shattering of something outside. "Destructively," he added.

"I don't know." He downed the last of his wine. "Sod it. 'going back to bed."

Sark caught up with Sydney in the bushes.

"This," he panted lightly, grabbing her arm, "has got to stop."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Why, sweet thing? We're engaged, remember? I've even got the ring to prove it." Her voice grew sharp.

He closed his eyes once at the reminder. When he opened them, Sydney was watching him steadily. "I'll explain everything about the ring if you'll only admit that we've more than displayed our "great love" for each other. Simon should be more than satisfied."

Sydney waved her hand. "Fine. Now explain this."

Sark reflexively glanced at the ring. It wasn't glowing, thank god. "Very well."

He took her hand and noticed when she stiffened. "Honestly, Sydney--"

"Don't even start," she warned, in the same quiet voice.

Sighing, he led her back inside and prepared to tell her everything he knew of the ring.

"Thank you so much!"

The fruit seller smiled toothily at the woman departing and waved. "Come again soon!"

Irina climbed back in the car, looking as if she'd swallowed something rotten.

Jack was hard pressed to keep a straight face. "What happened?"

"They haven't seen a sign of the 'tall blonde man' or his 'pretty companion' for at least four days." She tugged the kerchief off her head and finger-combed her hair with a grimace.

"You're the one who wanted to be the American tourists, Irina."

"I didn't say anything."

He gave into the urge to smile and tipped her face up with his free hand. "I know what you're thinking."

She tossed his hand away with a snarl. "Really? What do you suppose I'm thinking now?"

Jack chuckled to himself and parked the car on the quiet side street. He walked over to where she was working on the door and shielded her efforts by keeping his back to the street. With a click, the door opened and they stepped inside.

Irina immediately strode over to the large painting and shoved it aside. Jack raised a brow and took it as a sign to consider the room quietly.

The safe sprang open on the first try and she silently blessed Sark for not changing the combination in the past decade. He was a creature of habit and she was never more glad of that fact.

She carefully went through the safe and verified that the proper documents and monies were in place. It wasn't until she had finished sifting through the contents twice that she began to worry. She searched once more and braced herself for the results.

The ring was gone.

She turned to see Jack staring at her expectantly.

"Well?" He asked, glancing meaningfully at the safe.

"You can check it for yourself," she suggested, wanting to search the rest of the flat in hopes that Sark had hidden the ring somewhere else.

Jack went to the safe and looked things over while she tried to hide the fact that something had just gone terribly wrong. There. On the sideboard by the door was a set of keys. Sark never changed his keys while he was in France unless… "He'd gone to the manor."

"The safe checks out." He met her in the middle of the room. "What manor?"

Irina met her husband's eyes squarely and made a decision. "You have reliable contacts in the area?"

"Yes. What do you need?"

"Looks fine to me." Sydney drew back from the microscope and tapped her foot impatiently. "Why don't you just tell me what I'm looking for, Sark?"

He scowled and forced her to look at the ring again. "Tell me what you see."

"Lots of shiny platinum and garnet."

"It's not garnet. It's a rare form of crimson tanzanite."

"I see."

"No, clearly, you don't."

She stepped away from the microscope again and glared, putting her ring back on agitatedly. Sydney took up a post by the window.

Simon, surprisingly enough, had an observatory in his villa. It was at the opposite end of the house and judging from the thin layer of dust that covered the surface of equipment, rarely used.

Sark sighed. "I had hoped to ease you into this."

Sydney rolled her eyes. "It's ring. Would you stop being such a drama queen and just tell me what I need to know?" His chin lifted at her brusque command and she threatened, "I'll call you Pookie again."

He held her hand up to the window until the light fell on the stone at a certain angle. "Look." She narrowed her eyes and glared at him instead. "Look," Sark insisted.

She looked at the ring until her eyes began to cross. "I just don't see it. Why don't you just tell me what it's supposed to be instead of wasting our time and--" she stopped, seeing something in the ring.

Sydney frowned and shifted her hand experimentally. "Did you know there's a flaw in the stone?"

"It's not a flaw," he said quietly.

"On both sides. Almost like a--" her eyes widened and she frowned, walking slowly back to the microscope. Silently, she took the ring off and viewed it under the high-powered lens.

With her features carefully schooled into blankness, she held the ring in the palm of her hand. "I think you should tell me what's going on. I deserve to know why the stone is cut in the Eye of Rambaldi."


	11. Part Eleven

DECEIVE PART ELEVEN

- -

"I didn't do it."

"Sark, this is a custom-made ring."

Sark walked over to her and took the ring from her hand. "When I commissioned the ring to be made, I took it to a specialist. There were certain things that needed to be included."

"Like what?" Sydney's voice was flat.

It was pretty clear she wasn't going to make this easy on him. Fine. He would not spare her.

"The ring has several capabilities. Your basic GPS locator is embedded in the band. Biometric scanners track your vitals. It will respond uniquely to the initial wearer and deactivate if anyone other than said owner wears it. In this case, that would be you," he paused to make sure the full impact of his statement had sunk in.

Sydney looked out the window instead.

Sark refrained from sighing and continued, "It also seems to have responded to you in times of distress." When she looked at him skeptically, he clarified, "Siberia."

He counted to five silently and prayed that something would, once again, interfere with any further explanation. He wasn't entirely sure she could handle much more. Still, if the look she gave him was anything to go by… "The sensors can also be modified for use in disabling bugs, cameras and other technological security."

"Like what you did in our room with the computer."

"Precisely. I didn't use it for the cameras because I wasn't certain it would respond to my touch."

She lifted her chin, reaching for the ring when he held it out to her and fitting it back on. "But it did."

"Yes."

"Why?"

For a long time he stared at her, as if the answer was somehow written on her face. "I'm not entirely certain," he finally said, very quietly.

And that was not a good thing to hear.

- -

"Come in." Simon looked up from the big screen TV to see Avery standing in the doorway, frowning darkly. "What is it?"

He handed him a single page of paper. "There's going to be hell to pay, Boss."

Simon's eyes widened as he read the information silently. When he finished, he stuffed the paper in his pocket and grinned cheekily at him. "Let me worry about that. See about securing transportation. If they're still here by the time we tell them… I want to move out. Julia seems to be feeling remarkably well for someone who's suffered a concussion."

Something about his tone of voice warned Avery not to push the subject. "Right. Anything else?"

On his way out the door, Simon all but growled, "Yeah. Don't let them get away."

- -

Still annoyed and somewhat disturbed by the whole notion of having a ring that was practically… alive, Sydney glared at Sark and relied on the only thing she could to get her out of this safely.

Resentment.

"Let's get one thing straight. I'm only wearing the ring because it's part of this whole charade."

"Heaven forbid you should wear it because you actually like it."

"Whether or not I liked it -- and I didn't, in case you were wondering --" Sark rolled his eyes in disbelief and moved to lean against the wall, arms crossed lazily, "has nothing to do with the fact that you got me this, this, possessed ring that somehow responds to the fact that I am more than just Sydney Bristow!"

"Oh, do keep your voice down, darling. You never know who might be listening." It was said playfully, but there was no mistaking the steel-lined warning underneath.

She clenched her jaw and looked away for a moment to gather her thoughts. "Fine. You can pretend this is not happening all you want, and maybe that's easy for you because no one has arrested you for some resemblance to a picture that's a couple hundred years old, or confused you with your mother half a dozen times or even bestowed upon you this great name -- a different one, one you've never asked for in your entire life -- but! -- and make sure you get this straight because I will not say it again Sark -- I never asked to be the Chosen One. I never asked to care about some dead prophet who has a bunch of people still following his work, and I never asked to be a pawn in this giant Rambaldi chess game. So before you tell me that this is nothing, before you say that this is something that can be ignored, or stepped around, or even dealt with -- remember who you're dealing with here. And know that there is no one more familiar than I am with the fact that things never go according to plan when it comes to this crazy old inventor."

After that outburst, it was all Sydney could do to reign in her emotions and get her heartbeat under control.

There was a knock on the door and Simon waltzed in before either of them could evade him. He eyed the two speculatively and cleared his throat. "Trouble in paradise?" Sark and Sydney both managed such an eerily similar look of disdain that he was forced continue. "Well, look. I hate to break it to you, but… It seems there's been some damage to that castle you call a home in France."

Sydney looked at Sark faster than you could say 'I told you so' and tried to act concerned. "What happened?"

Simon glanced at the still-quiet man in the corner and said, "My sources tell me it's rather extensive, actually. There's been reports of renegade bombers outside of Paris… They haven't wasted any time in letting the authorities know their demands and that they will not be stopped until they're satisfied. Apparently, the streets are black with soot and ash."

"Just get to the part about my house, Simon," Sark bit off impatiently, beginning to pace.

"Right. The latest assessment is quite bleak. Most of the structure is expected to be ruined and --"

Sydney let the rest of Simon's ongoing explanation filter out while glancing discreetly at Sark to see how he was taking the news.

A cloud of resolve seemed to pass over his face briefly before he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Sydney saw a trace of regret, and maybe even guilt wash through his gaze and almost felt sorry for ripping him a new one before Simon had walked in.

Something in the air changed and she shifted away to try and ease some of the discomfort she abruptly felt.

"Also --" A large, echoing boom shook the walls threateningly. "-- What the hell!" Simon halted mid-sentence, looking more than affronted at the newest distraction. He stuck his head out the door and yelled, "Keep it down out there!" Thunder shuddered through the walls and seemed to land just outside the observatory. "Bollocks," he grumbled, tossing the paper behind him distractedly. "Do what you want with that, mates. I've got to go see what in the effing name of everything worth having is going on in my house." The door slammed shut behind him solidly as Sark bent to retrieve the paper.

Sydney was at his side in a moment. "What does it say?"

"The house has been attacked by the renegade bombers, apparently. We would be foolish if we actually believe that anything remains. It's probably better to stay out of their path. We'll have to go and check it out once the smoke has cleared." He was so preoccupied with the thought of the castle being destroyed he didn't even notice the horrible pun he'd just made. Sydney decided to let it slide just this once.

"Sark," she put her hand on his arm. "It can't hurt, can it? It would give us an excuse to get out of here, at any rate."

"You're saying you want to go back there?"

"I left my things at your place. Of course I want to go get them."

"I honestly doubt there will be anything left. That is, even if you get past the tons of rubble and stone there will almost certainly be. It could take months to find anything there."

She bit her lip and shrugged one shoulder. "We have to try, don't we?"

Sark zeroed in on the emotion in her eyes and wondered why she even cared about the place. She'd only been there for a few days at the most, there was no way she'd already formed an attachment to the place. So why was she lobbying so hard for this? Already, a list of possible motives for wanting to leave was silently tallied up while he tucked his hand in his pocket.

Sydney shifted under his gaze, eyebrows lifted. "Well?"

The reverberation of shells exploding broke the moment awkwardly and she flinched at the sudden intrusion. "Can I just say how annoying that is?" The continuous noise set her pacing, just to have something to do.

Another loud crash prevented him from answering. Sydney looked up to see Sark heading straight for her. "What the --"

He picked her up and they rolled, skidding to a stop several feet away. A large chandelier crashed down roughly the location where they'd just been. He stood up and extended a hand to her, eyebrow raised in question.

"Right."

Sark tucked her close to his body and they headed for the door, falling back into their roles swiftly. They met Simon in the courtyard.

"What are you doing here? Can't you see we're under attack?"

The situation would have been laughable if it weren't so dire. The arm around her turned to steel and she felt a chill race down her body as Sark calmly replied, "For all we know, Simon, you ordered the hit."

Even with the chaos literally exploding around them, it was not hard to hear the deadly tone in Simon's voice. "What did you just say?"

"It would certainly explain the sudden attack on my home."

The darker man chuckled to himself. "You actually think I would destroy my own house to cover up a supposed hit on yours?"

She saved them from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown, all out brawl -- and knowing these two the way she did, it would be messy -- by saying mildly, "Stranger things have happened."

His anger was drawn away from Sark and she was pinned under the fury behind his eyes. "You don't want to get into this, Julia. It's not your fight."

"Maybe it is." Her eyes flicked to the sky quickly as she took a step back, dragging Sark with her. "And maybe… it isn't."

A grenade landed at their feet as she met his eyes mischievously. "Guess this is where we split up, Si. Call you when we can."

They had just enough time to run before the explosion ripped the entire courtyard apart.

- -

Finding transportation and getting out of Italy was a lot easier than they had expected. Sydney called up a former contact and called in a favor that got them as far as France. Then they drove from the airport to the mountainous region outside of town. Sark wanted to know what to expect before getting in too deeply.

Sure enough, the surrounding area was gray with smoke. From what they could see -- which wasn't much at all -- the quiet little town looked almost dead in comparison with the vitality they had previously been witness to, and thick black clouds obscured most everything else from view.

Though he didn't express it aloud, Sydney knew that Sark wasn't sure if the staff at the estate had made it and that the logical side of him would not let that question go unanswered. At any rate, she had given him the extra push back in Campania, and they had to at least see if any part of the castle remained.

Sydney stepped down from the rock she'd been standing on and moved to get back in the car when Sark called after her. She turned with one hand on the door, a question in her eyes.

"If we take the car back, there will more than likely be an entourage of armed guards waiting to take us in. We left Simon in a bad position with the Covenant and they are not going to respond to that kindly."

"We can't just not go, Sark."

"I didn't mean to imply that our trip had been canceled, Sydney. Only that we are going to take another route getting there."

Something about the way the smoke reflected in his eyes scared her. "There's another way in?"

"How do you feel about tunnels, Sydney?"

- -

The first time they'd been to the manor, Sydney had been asleep. Sark had driven them and she gathered they had passed over the very cave they were traveling in now. By her estimation, they'd been inside the dirt tunnel for almost an hour. It seemed longer, but her watch was still partially functioning and she was using it for her sanity as much as chronological purposes.

"How much farther?"

"Quite a bit. I don't suppose you brought matches with you?"

"Matches? No. Why would I --" The torch she carried abruptly flickered out and a cold draft blew through the area quickly. "Don't tell me this place is haunted."

"I don't believe in ghosts," he smartly replied, coming closer and reaching her side in a few seconds. "But something about this place has always made me a bit uneasy."

"And you're just getting around to telling me this now?"

Even in the dark, she knew when he had turned to her in amusement. "Would you have willingly gone if I had mentioned it before?"

"…Maybe."

He smiled in the darkness. "Somehow, I doubt that. There's no fear of getting lost. These caves have been around for a long time. I practically grew up in them."

Something brushed past her legs and Sydney had to fight the urge to scream. She was an international spy. She could do this. The chill whipped past her once again and she shivered. Or not. "And if I admit to being afraid of the dark?"

"Perhaps a more appropriate time to reveal this phobia would have been before we'd entered."

Sydney stopped in her tracks and faced him. Or at least, faced what she thought was him, being that there wasn't really any source of light. "You didn't tell me we were going to be walking some underground tunnel to get back inside the gates."

"Clearly, an error on my part."

"And yet, you're not coming out and apologizing."

"What good would come of that? We're already down here, and more than halfway there, by my calculations."

Sydney swung her arms restlessly as she started walking again. "Which you still never really explained. What kind of childhood did you have, Sark, if you spent your time in caves and wandered the grounds for fun?"

Sark gripped her arm suddenly. "I didn't spend my childhood here." He loosened his grip infinitesimally. He kicked at the ground aimlessly, staring off into what Sydney presumed was the distance. "The caves were here long before we were."

She shuddered at the implications. "So you're saying they came with the house?"

Even in the dark, she could tell when he met her eyes. "Something along those lines."

There had to be a pound's worth of sand in her left shoe. Exasperated and tired of the darkness, Sydney stopped once again and leaned against the cave wall for support. "Would it kill you to answer a question straight out for once?"

"That depends on the question."

"Sark," she said, her voice low and angry. "Stop trying to avoid the subject."

He swallowed the dust that was sticking to his throat. "It would seem you're preventing that quite nicely."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your ring, Sydney."

She looked down at her hand to see the ring glowing faintly in the darkness. "You've got to be kidding me. Did you plan this?"

"I assure you, while antagonizing you is a favorite pastime of mine, I did not intend for this to happen."

"Does this mean if you so much as look at me cross-eyed, I can fry you into a thousand tiny little pieces?"

Despite himself, Sark took a step back. It wasn't the ring that worried him -- he was fairly sure it wouldn't harm him -- it was the strange glimmer in Sydney's eyes. "Now, darling," he slipped back into the persona of her fiancé seamlessly. "Do you really think that's wise? I'm your way out of here."

Sydney bit back a sigh and swatted at the long braids covering her back and shoulders. "Consider yourself spared for the time being. I make no promises about what happens when we finally get out of this place."

"As you like," Sark graciously offered.

She stood up straight and continued walking. Sark followed at a safe distance. "Just so you know, I'm only following you because I'd probably get stuck down a wrong path or something."

"Of course."

"I could probably make it out of here on my own if I wanted to."

"Probably."

Not missing a beat, she shoved him against the wall roughly. "And your childhood must have been really sad if you spent your whole life down here."

Sark twisted around and kicked her knees from behind. She landed awkwardly but sprung up, itching to fight.

"For the last time, Sydney. Leave my childhood out of this." Now his voice was threatening and furious.

"Sure thing." Sydney ground her foot into his instep. "Just keep your hands off me."

Ignoring the urge to beat her to a bloody pulp, Sark murmured, "You didn't seem to mind them last night."

She slanted him a look full of vengeful intentions. "Don't push me."

There was silence in the caves for a full minute while Sark weighed the pros and cons of having a brawl then and there. It would certainly take the edge off things.

"We'd bring this place down around our necks," Sydney said suddenly. "So don't even try it."

Suddenly too weary to be surprised that she'd know what he was thinking, Sark shook his head and put his hand on the wall. He felt the grooves and jagged edges for a moment. "Left up here. And then straight to the top."

Sydney let out a noise of disbelief. "We don't even know where we're going, so you just run your hands over the wall and become our roadmap? Let me see that," she pushed him out of the way none too gently and moved both her hands along the wall. Something smooth and cool to the touch ran underneath her left hand and before she could tell him about it, the cave flared to light with torches lining both sides of the wall.

Sydney closed her eyes in disbelief and leaned her head against the hard rock. She knew if she opened her eyes that she would see Sark's astonished face clearly and didn't want to talk about what had just happened.

As if understanding her need for silence, Sark came to where she was standing quietly.

Underneath her left hand was the symbol of Rambaldi.

And her ring was still glowing.

He gave her some time to take in what had happened before announcing that they should move on. Sydney looked at him once and followed the rest of the way in silence.

This time, the torches remained lit throughout their journey.

- -

They'd expected to find a structure that had been laid waste. A land ravaged by fire and wreckage. If they were truly fortunate, a small part of the castle that had survived.

They did not expect to find the grounds as perfectly manicured as the day they had left. The mansion stood before them proudly, dark and gleaming and remarkably untouched. It was too good to be true, and part of Sydney kept waiting for one of Simon's men to jump out from the trees and ambush them.

But the closer they got to the doors, the more she started to believe that the reports of the bombings weren't entirely true. Sark keyed the doors open quickly and they went inside, searching for any sign that something wasn't right.

The place was immaculate. If someone had been here, it didn't show. She followed him to the study and perched on the arm of the sofa while he ran through the appropriate protocols and securities.

"There hasn't been so much as a produce delivery since we left." Sark keyed in a few more commands, searching the video surveillance of the grounds. "It would seem that we weren't breached."

Sydney met his eyes. "The staff?"

"All present and accounted for. Philippe is even tending to the library."

"Something isn't right. Why would Simon have reports of this place being destroyed when there's not even a scratch on it?"

Sark rolled a pen between his fingers, considering his next words carefully. "I think it's safe to conclude that Simon was fed false information. In addition, the town has been bombed -- we're just not certain to what extent as of this time. The smoke reduced visibility quite a bit and it's reasonable to conclude that communication is probably limited."

"What are your staff trained to do in a situation like this?"

"Not respond."

How classically Sark.

"So what do we do now?"

He closed down the computer and stood up purposefully, tucking his hands into his pockets. "We wait."

- -

After two hours of waiting, they realized that the answers weren't simply going to come to them. But with the attacks so recent, they couldn't afford to go out and search. The first thing they'd agreed upon all day was the necessity to freshen up.

Sydney left Sark to go take a shower while he went to track down Philippe to talk options. It was strange how comforting it was to be inside her ivory room again. Now that it was only for one person, the bed looked absolutely humongous and the room seemed almost too clean, compared to the bright colors in Simon's villa and the occasional dust kicked up by the trade winds.

Still, it was nice to go into the bathroom and trust that she wasn't being monitored. She'd personally scoured the room for bugs before they'd left for Italy and then done a recheck as soon as they got back. And perhaps more importantly, knowing what her ring was capable of, it would be stupid for Sark to install cameras and bugs that she would destroy as soon as possible. Not to mention, a small part of her secretly hoped that he was beyond such things now.

The first thing she did upon entering was to run water for a bath. She added some foaming body wash with a generous hand and let the water run while the tub filled with bubbles. Her robe was still in the door hook where she'd left it and her hairbrush lay next to the hand towel on the sink.

She ran her fingers through her hair, finding the pieces that held her wig on and worked on untangling her real hair from the fake. Several minutes later, she was looking less like Julia Thorne of the wild hair and outrageous behavior and more like Sydney Bristow -- and it was an unbelievable relief. Her hair finally free of the constrictive extensions and at least half the makeup washed off her face, she stepped into the tub.

There was a book on the ledge next to her and a vase of roses directly in front, at the foot of the Jacuzzi. She submerged her entire body under the water, closed her eyes so tightly that she saw dark shadows playing behind her eyelids and held her breath until she couldn't stand it any longer.

When she came up for air, Sydney slicked her hair back and ran her fingers over the water gently. This was pure bliss. It was totally worth coming back if only to take a bubble bath. With that thought in mind, she turned the jets on, closed her eyes and decided to rest for just a few minutes.

- -

If Philippe looked surprised to see Sark, he did a good job of hiding it.

"You've arrived home early."

"There was some business that needed to be taken care of."

Thankfully, the older man was well acquainted with the Sark's line of work and nothing more needed to be said. "How is Miss Bristow?"

"A bit shaken by the tunnels, but she seems otherwise okay."

Philippe looked impressed. "You told her, then?"

"Not everything. But she's more aware of what that ring can do and perhaps that will keep her from getting too angry with anyone in the future."

The two men walked onto the patio and into the garden. "Were you followed?"

Sark aimed a dry look at him. "I am never followed."

"I could have sworn, there was that one time, in Denpasar…" Philippe trailed off wonderingly. "But I must be imagining things."

Sark cleared his throat and changed the subject. "What have you heard about these bombers? Do they have any records? Have we been in contact with them before?"

"As far as I'm aware, we have not yet run across these two."

Sark murmured noncommittally. "Find me as soon as you locate some intel."

"And where will you be, sir?"

"Around," he answered vaguely, leaving Philippe behind in the garden.

- -

The staff seemed to anticipate that they wouldn't need a five-course dinner or the usual attention and prepared a light snack in the study. That was where Sark found Sydney, munching contentedly on what appeared to be a sandwich of some kind, eyes closed in bliss.

"I take it you approve of your dinner this time?"

She opened her eyes reluctantly to see him seated across from her on the couch, with a mug in one hand and a sandwich of his own in the other. "BLT's are my favorite," she responded, completely ignoring his reference to the disaster that had occurred last time they were supposed to eat. While there were most definitely worse things than having a repeat performance of their encounter at the cliffs, Sydney couldn't seem to think of any. And that was certainly dangerous indeed.

They ate in an easy silence, now used to the company of the other. There was no strain or feelings of awkwardness between them, just an effortless relief and security that at the moment, things were silent on the home front and they could afford to stop and catch their breath.

"Not that I would ever be one to insult your sense of fashion, Sydney, but just exactly how old are those clothes you're wearing?"

Sydney fondly glanced down at her black sweats that seemed ageless and was thankful that she'd been able to locate some pieces of her past in storage vaults and at her father's house. "Ancient. I've had these since I began college."

Sark eyed the faded clothing with a very mild distaste and frowned. "Then they're well over 10 years old, are they not?"

"A lady never reveals her age," she primly replied, nibbling at the corners of her sandwich.

"Right. How thoughtless of me," he mused aloud, a smile playing at his lips. "In any case, I suppose they were worth coming back for?"

She set her plate down gently and regarded him for a moment, considering what he wasn't saying. "It was worth it," she finally affirmed, nodding. "I'm glad we came back."

"Good. So am I." He finished his meal and stood up to stretch. "Being that we haven't heard anything regarding our current situation just yet, I'm going to suggest that we get some rest. Tomorrow will be our day to figure things out, and I'm afraid we're going to have to jump directly into the Covenant's hands before they send out a search party."

"Okay. I'm probably going to finish reading this chapter first," Sydney held up the book she'd swiped from the library. "See you in the morning," she said to his departing form.

Sark paused in the doorway and turned back to Sydney with a strange look on his face.

"What?"

He pressed his lips together. "When I was speaking with Philippe earlier, he said there were two bombers."

Sydney frowned. "How would he know that?"

"He wouldn't. Unless he's --" Sark cut off suddenly, and fell to the floor with a thud. A red dart stuck out of his neck.

Sydney tensed in her seat, getting ready to strike out at their attacker.

The person hefted the tranq gun and stepped into the room.

"Dad?"

- -


End file.
